There is a sweat factor of ten out there this week. New York is as thick as lard.
My son sweats buckets like his godfather. I sweat a lot, but somehow not as much as those two. My wife doesn't sweat at all. And if she does, it seems unlike sweat, rather like a fine cool mist off the heathery slopes yon.
4 comments:
Just last night I took a long walk up Santa Barbara street all the way to the end and then around the block and down Garden back to our apartment. I thought about how fresh the air was and how swampy it would be if I were still in the Bronx.
There is a lot to miss about NY but a lot to be happy about here.
Your polaroid reminds me of the time we were all walking back from Diner to your place and they were pulling a coffin out of that place next to King David's.
Ick. Still would like to be back there, though.
I've just appointed myself as Poetry Editor of Ok, oh:
July
This week, a sweat
factor of ten, New
York thick as lard.
My son sweats
buckets like his god-
father
I sweat a lot but not
like them.
My wife doesn't sweat
at all, or if she does it is un-
like sweat and like a fine
cool mist
off heathery slopes.
Nice Caeli. I appreciate the reorganization. Makes me look at this thing in a whole new light.
How was/is the land of bad teeth and Cadbury Bars?
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