“what?” then agnes
looked all disturbed
at the insistence
that there must
be something.
she got all flus
tered with her
arms, kind of
pointing her
elbows down
and making
them into the
shape of a “w”
that hopped
up and down
like a rabbit
in front of
her smallish
but perky-
fluidy-floppy
breasts, which
could be easily
made out dancing
with the “w” in what
most anyone would’ve
surely thought mostly
quite inspirational ways.
and of course she was
flustered because there
was something. or, more
to the point, there was some
thing the matter. and she and
the other two agnesses (which
were all of the agnesses in town
at this point in time, it should be
recalled) then had had all of the
realization they wanted of what
they were to these deprived
people. “it’s your porchlight,
francis,” they said in unison,
that is agnes 1, agnes 2
and agnes 3 (who was
next-door neighbor to
frank and barb; had
been since they’d
moved into the
cul-de-sacced
burb back in
’sixty-two.
“oh,” said frank,
and then, “well,
oh. oh.” the
agnesses gave
him all sorts of
looks of entreaty
until he added “uh,
well, i will have to fix
that tomorrow, i will.”
tomorrow was saturday,
so strictly speaking, even
though it was mid-afternoon,
and he and barb had already
slurped down two bloody marys,
it was still a work-day. can’t do
work on a workday, thought frank.
not at home, anyway. meanwhile,
barb walks out all smiles with not
one, not two, but five celeried up
bloodies, and the agnesses went
immediately into a new version
of their “w” dance with their
arms hopping up and over
and about while generally
remaining capital “w’s” –
only this time the dances
each seemed to have a
lot less of anxiety and
a lot more of what
might be described
giddy. mouthy,
gossipy, and
frank wasn’t
paying the
least bit
attention
to them. he
made a mental
note to pick up some
bulbs at the hardware
tomorrow morning and
install the new ones to
replace the two that had
gone dark. and down went
his drink in a gulp, or maybe
two. and his eyes never left
barb’s bazookas, who were
unexpectedly adorned by
only just the exact amount
of yellow material to just
almost and yet only cover
his wife’s most prized
possession. he even
lingered fleetingly on
glib question that
floated around in
his head as he
downed the
last pulpy bit
of his cocktail,
“but, gee, francis,
what exactly is the
prize and what’s the
possession here?”
but he knew that
even she knew
that they both
played them
quite well.
“blue
ribbons,”
he blurted,
and by then
the agnesses,
lifting their
brows a bit
at that seem
ingly nonsens
ical comment,
were enjoying
their cocktails,
as well.
