I walk to the new gig. First-day-of-school-style outfit donned. Old, fuzzy threads, nonetheless.
I espy a blanch in a branch of the shrub, with wooden threads of splintered
timber;
And, my mind initiates the below (tangent umpteenth).
That timbre of timidity from the ghost mice scurrying under my feet,
running like a wide river at a moderate water pressure.
They can give your toes an itch or a twitch.
Quick as you please, I leap to the limb.
Back to the blanched branch which is
splaying, shredding, snapping,
no longer bending.
Critical load bearing exceeded.
The shrub shrugs
it off like a crab with a too-tight shell.
I was warned it was awful hot
to walk to that new spot.
Do I want a ride there in your car? Thank you, kindly,
but, nah.
I forget how to breathe in those things.
I cannot forget how to breathe when walking
in the heat.
I arrive to do the job and their A/C is on the fritz.
The windows bring the sun in full frontal until night falls.
Hotter than the hot outside,
front and back of house have been sweating it out longer than me.
Spots of,
the sheen of,
sweat in my hairline,
on my neck’s nape,
curling strands; and signaling:
simpatico.
sections within floor charts ; table numbers ; two and four tops ; spare chairs ; polished silver.
A dining room
laid out.
Down.
She told me: I make circles and keep up everything with my eyes. You can circle the floor without hitting a wall and having to turn around abruptly.
No dead ends, eh?
I remember walking these circles with open eyes: I think.
I smile.
WrittenCasey 