Goldy

Just now I discover that my salt shaker has gold dust in it, not salt.


All summer, I’ve felt important, but sluggish—weighed down like a motherfucker.

On the last day possible, I go to the doctor.
He’s studied the X-rays.
Consulted the blood work.
Even looked down my throat with a very high powered flashlight.
“What happens when you try to swim in a pool?”
“I sink right to the bottom.”
“Oh.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep eating, you’ll be rich soon.”



Sometimes when I came home things in my house were different.
A TV remote on the couch where I don’t sit.
Toilet lid left down.
Jar of mayonnaise sideways in the fridge.

I’d had a problem once with squirrels in the attic. This time, when I pulled the string and took the stairs up, I found a girl sleeping in C in a nest of pink insulation.

She lifted her head, “I’ve been paying rent.”
I said, “Listen, you should come down here and talk out your mysteries.”

Advertisements

Please chime in, let's talk about the Universe

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s