justwrite 12 september

there is a mountain a fountain pen away which you can't miss so a chance glance forward will keep you forewarned of the storming backbay region with the seasoning too orange for contagion raging through chevrolet parking lots the turkey trots of middle school autumns walking up to the high school the track clapping up the asthma with white air and flannel shirts tucked in sucking up the pride riding high past guidance counselors and instructors of various kinds of diverse minds on the value of high-priced sneakers the tennis shoe beakers experimenting with our toes and where we go from no one knows where sharing our common laces the great escape is a common mistake we all dream about while digging our toes into the dirt this here is my flowerbed and instead of rushing for gold i'd like to hold your hand a little closer and light a fire beside the one restaurant but it's a bonfire and we'll hire the volunteer fire company that's number three and we'll see who sets those matches a-catchin' we'll hatch those plans before they fly the coop roost the toaster oven with pop-up ads far off in a different scheme with the twisting bits and tomato pips fried into the grilled cheese squeezing butter into the brownwheat pores the wholegrain frame of reference given slight deference with food coloring and caramel numbering up and down the stories of our fathers' stores and what they sold and what they stole and how the whole became half and whether we ought to laugh at the stockings we hang on our own noses growing pinnochio toes and dancing woodenly about the shop stopping at a glance of light and wondering for a blue fairy