(February 8/08)
Nineteen days before my reception into this world some fifty years ago. Scabby cone-headed me, baby’s breath and teat-tugging gums. Montreal, the city of circles, Dante’s concentric upward spiral. Me dear mum pushed me out through her ovum-hatch, all eyes on the tick-tock of the surgeries’ clock. ‘Trug Raffungen Sie zappelnd und zu befestigen, con le sue Rock-pins curette’ she hollered ‘heave-ho and out he goes, all hinds on board, weigh the port anchor weigh’. I grew up and out, sideways and off-kilter, a pilsner’s worth of foolhardiness. As I sit here now, writing this dismissive missive, I can see the anchor aweigh, 2-shits to the wind, a bollard’s worth of mercantile and chow mien. The much-too-green plant anchored above my bed is dieing a cloister’s death, not nearly enough water, too little teat-tugging and baby’s breath.
Nineteen days before my reception into this world some fifty years ago. Scabby cone-headed me, baby’s breath and teat-tugging gums. Montreal, the city of circles, Dante’s concentric upward spiral. Me dear mum pushed me out through her ovum-hatch, all eyes on the tick-tock of the surgeries’ clock. ‘Trug Raffungen Sie zappelnd und zu befestigen, con le sue Rock-pins curette’ she hollered ‘heave-ho and out he goes, all hinds on board, weigh the port anchor weigh’. I grew up and out, sideways and off-kilter, a pilsner’s worth of foolhardiness. As I sit here now, writing this dismissive missive, I can see the anchor aweigh, 2-shits to the wind, a bollard’s worth of mercantile and chow mien. The much-too-green plant anchored above my bed is dieing a cloister’s death, not nearly enough water, too little teat-tugging and baby’s breath.
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