The gravel
in Lynn was
more like
busted up
shale. She
said she
could barely
open her
eyes anymore
and it was
clear to me
that she was
correct. I
suggested
toothpicks,
always the
clown. But
am I creepy
like the
clowns of
horror flicks,
the circus
clown-type
or more of a
rodeo clown,
gored by the
bull you so
gallantly
rode into
our town
on that
fine spring
like day?
We heard
on the radio
that by morning
our gardens
would be
frozen.
My heart
beat best
while
the rump
was on holi
day roasting.
