Monday, June 02, 2008

Autumn Leaves

‘When nothing matters you have to pay attention to everything’ said the legless man. ‘…I suppose you do’ said the alms, his left eye twitching madly. ‘Even those little things that seem so little are more important than you first thought they was’. ‘…were’ said the alms man. ‘…what?’ ‘Were’. ‘…of course, were more important than they was’. ‘Was were’. ‘…yes’. ‘Were was?’ ‘All those tiny wee things, the insignificant things, all of them was were’. ‘Have you a pocketcomb?’ asked the alms man. ‘No I haven’t one of those…’ said the legless man. ‘…well I do…’ ‘…have you?’ ‘…yes, in my coat pocket’. ‘How is that?’ ‘…is what?’ said the alms man. ‘That you have one of those but not one of these?’ pointing at his cap. ‘I have no need for one of those’. ‘…I see, one of these but not one of those’. ‘One of those what?’ ‘…I were only joking’ said the legless man, his eyes twitching madly. ‘…what time have you? Asked the alms man pleasantly. ‘…time?...I haven’t a watch’. ‘Well then how do you know what time it is? ‘From the colour of the sky…and..’ ‘…and what? ‘…and when my stomach starts to grumble’. The soup-line had begun forming across the street in front of the Waymart. ‘…well my watch…if I had one…would say its just about time for soup’ said the legless man. ‘…yes, so it would’ said the alms man. ‘…yes, most certainly it would…if I had one…a watch’. ‘I’m glad you were paying attention to the little things’ said the alms man. ‘…always do’ said the legless man, his eye wet with strain.

The soup-line jerked from side to side grumbling and cursing, a fat woman with a small dog screeched at a thin woman with a big dog, both woman cursing a medium-size woman with a small dog and a big dog who had elbowed her way to the front of the line. ‘I want a piece of new bread!’ yelled a woman in a hounds’-tooth skirt. ‘And I…I want soup that doesn’t have scalp-lice in it!’ yelled a second woman, her hands jittering like autumn leaves. A stout man in a rain slicker holding an umbrella yelled, ‘I want what I want, nothing less’. ‘I want a better spoon, not a dirty bent one’ said a meek boy in a school uniform with cap. A woman with hair like a wasp’s nest hollered at the top of her lungs, ‘…fuck it…gimme something or else I’ll kick the living shit out of you’. ‘Who?’ asked a man with a carryall and a bag of dirty socks. ‘Whoever gets in my damn way…!’ The alms man and the legless man decided to eat lunch at the Presbyterian church, where they heard they were serving potato soup and three-day-old Eucharist
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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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