a little writing excercise

by a majority of one

Posted to Stories on 2003-05-05 09:36:00

Prose accompaniement to “Hay for the Horses” by Gary Snyder.

“I sure would hate to do this all my life.
And dammit, that’s just what,
I’ve gone and done.”
I’m old and alone despite family, for my dreams never expanded past reality. I settled down and lived The Dream. I was supposed to be fulfilled. I quelled my belly’s flames, and dashed My Dream. The cloud fantasy of grass-stained boys who pull girls hair, less slick than honest, but just as effective and more memorable. I abstained from whimsy to put food on the table so my children could put food on the table so their children could put food on their table. I closed my eyes, and saw the world through orange eye-lids, thinking the glow was enough. Neither burst nor sparkle for thirty years, but I was safe from Hell. One day I took my clothes off in the fields, but shielded my nakedness because the stalks were judging me. I never did that cartwheel, or let out that scream. I hunched over as I put my clothes back on, went in the house, and told my family my day was good when they asked.