—Ted Greenwald
I gave myself sun-
burn! And look who’s
at the doorway, look-
ing just as sinister as
he never looked, the
halo almost a floating
aura around this month’s
bangs. Why, it’s YOU,
that’s who! If, for ex-
ample, we were to ex-
change a glance or two
(we do, we did), I’d
think “and just to think,
it all started with I don’t
know you, you don’t know
me. Right?” Right. But
somebody must have really
wanted to know something.
(Right?) (And what a shame,
ignorance?) (Right?). “Hey,
sonny, can you make the
burn go a-way?” Or can
you at least make it go
thattaway. And to think,
the burn was the burn
of the party cake, the
slight heartburn of a
heart having a panic
attack. And the angel
reminded the heart
that there was no panic
at all, was there? No
panic at all. Then the
burp. Then the twinned
laughter. “Can you make
the burn go away, kiddo!”
started without the de-
ranged scream, was
more of a simple whis-
per: “Burn it up daddy,
just burn it all up.” Ama-
zingly, since burn nev-
er really goes up. In
that sense. It goes
down. “Look it’s
all burnt down,”
said Sally
walking down
Conifer Lane
for the fif-
teenth time
in a row, thirty
months after it
all burnt down.
The 5-alarm fire
that didn’t even
fry the doorway.
If you look, or at
least when Sally
looks, she can
almost see the
cherub, his red
flowing cape,
and long ash-
whipped nose.
