mmmmdcccxvi

Selfie at the Garage Door

Whenever Brenda was in there,
boy what a mess.  And the noise!
It wasn’t just the electronic music
that had the cinderblock walls in

flate with each boom of the beat,
but there was the conglomerate of
the whirring and banging and plip-

plopping of all of her tools.  It seemed

there were always multiple ones
being used at at any given moment.
It could be the jigsaw slicing a two by
four in two while she was simultaneously

banging a nail into something with a
hammer and hacksawing pipe or some

such as if she had a third arm or tele

kinesis.  And she’d be in there for hours.

Then, at a moment when one would
swear it was going to go on all weekend,
out she’d come, saying “I’m rett to go!”
And what a beauty she was in that new

outfit, materials soft and billowy that
looked light as fresh white rose petals
falling from the bloom, highlighting the
chiffons and the cottons and whatever

else made up her fancy dress du jour. “I
said I’m rett to go!” “Oh, there’s no
need to ask twice!” And off the couple
were to the danceclub, the belle of the

ball and her awkward sidekick, out for
another night that would not be forgotten.