Snowpants and Derision
(Dec 16/05)
Its snowing like a bandy-legged Santa with arthritic joints and hammer nails. Every first snow, or the heaviest, brings me careening back to that day, so many years past, when I ran to my window ledge and peered out the fogged glass. And saw enrapture, a world gone white as our pet rabbit Thumper, who my father walked on a lease around the neighborhood much to the derision and befuddlement of dog-walkers and cat-owners. As my father refused to buy a snow blower, frosted eyebrows and icicle snotty noses were an all too common fatality of heavy first snows. And the availability of a hove bladed aluminum snow shovel that my father kept on a hook in the garage next to the jumper cables and his oil smock.
Its snowing like a bandy-legged Santa with arthritic joints and hammer nails. Every first snow, or the heaviest, brings me careening back to that day, so many years past, when I ran to my window ledge and peered out the fogged glass. And saw enrapture, a world gone white as our pet rabbit Thumper, who my father walked on a lease around the neighborhood much to the derision and befuddlement of dog-walkers and cat-owners. As my father refused to buy a snow blower, frosted eyebrows and icicle snotty noses were an all too common fatality of heavy first snows. And the availability of a hove bladed aluminum snow shovel that my father kept on a hook in the garage next to the jumper cables and his oil smock.
Denticulate, how does the poor sod eat a measly thing. Teeth more like chisels, beveled down to mortuary posts or granary stone. I mean, really, he must have lost ‘em in a fight, one of those barstool rough-ups where the other guy never sees it coming, whack, a 50 right up side of the head, crushing his temporal lobe into the gravy of his meniscus. Fucking sorry state of affairs, any which way you look at it. Taking public transit on a snowy bound day, in any gods’ forsaken city, is more than one man with a titanium shoulder and poor taste in footwear should need put up with. But then again, what other means of getting around have I at my command, other than a $71.25 transit pass with a gods’ awful snap of me Charlie facing like a fucking dip-shit. In a yellow rain slicker, no less, and lichen green long-sleeved pullover, a fucking pullover I probably bought off the rack in some hand-me-down almsman’s store. A cadger is as a cadger does, or some such Lilliputian nonsense.
‘Don’t jerk me off’ she said. "You mean around, don’t you’, he said, ‘not off.’ ‘Whatever!’ she said, saying. ‘You mean fuck off, don’t you’ he said after saying not off. ‘Whatever is a snide and none too smart way of telling someone to fuck off, get lost, don’t jerk me around.’ ‘Yea whatever,’ she said. ‘And jerk me off too, you dim bastard!’ Ah, the joys of riding the cadger’s motor coach.
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