Redemption With Arm Pit

 

Trying to write iambic pentameter and share it with a friend.  He’s to try and write me back, in kind.  I've now written him with one such effort and he's replied with his own. Fluid.  His made sense.  I'd suspected as much.  My effort followed the rhythmic and rhyming rules well enough, but the result had no real grace. 

 

Moved one of my old book shelves up to this office today.  Thirty minutes worth of taped cardboard removal led me to the point of considering just how to move this enormous book frame up from the lower garage.  I’d originally considered a wheel barrow but settled upon the idea of a hand truck.  The big shelf  fit on the hand truck easily enough and we got it to the front door relatively quickly.  From there a considerable amount of maneuvering was required but before long we’d managed to move it up to this study.  They are large and crowd the room. My wife told me this many times.   I’m snot sure how many more will fit but if it were up to me there’d be at least one more in this study. 

Yesterday evening we took some stakes and popped jack ‘o’ lanterns on top of them and pulled out an old tee shirt or two that I loved I their day but were now simply beyond redemption with arm pit holes.  We populated a little village of strange pumpkin children on stakes, and with the spikes and the shirts it certainly looked creepy from the trail. 

Today when I walked down that someone had taken one of the pumpkins and pushed it down over the stake.  The end-game is to be creepy so I didn’t mind on the gesture on the one hand, though I was intrigued that someone felt they should walk up and behave that way, as if my gesture was a provocation, which I suppose it was.  I rearranged a few things for what I told myself was the last time.  If they fall or are messed with again, so be it.  They are meant to be a temporal horror gesture, not a holy crèche.

Sunday, 10/04/20