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“though he were dead, yet shall he live”

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Ah yardwork, not gardening, for I am ineluctably American. I do not finesse and I do not plant little flowers. I chop and rip, I should have a machete, not clippers.

My daughter sat in her cat chair and rhapsodized a song about a heroine who built the “tower, the Tower of London” and then is imprisoned in said Tower, only to be rescued by a boy named Elmer. Fucking Disneyplots! Still, the song was lovely….

As for me, I was happily and mindlessly raking up the thick coat of leaves until I struck and killed a hidden toad with my rake. This was upsetting, for he was huge and sentinent looking. And he looked, in his inverted dead state, like a full-sized human heart, just laying there damp on the scruff.

I turned my attentions to other parts of our pocket garden. I thought about writing a poem about it, the rake bit, the toad bit, the heart bit. Random death from the air at the end of a HomeBase bought metal rake, all in the midst of warm and wet and animally leaf-sleep.

When I turned back to see once again, the toad was gone! Lazarus toad! I started to tell my daughter about Lazarus when she asked, but couldn’t make it through for it is a silly, silly story.

The fucker ruined the poem too. But I’m glad he’s still alive, if poked and bleeding and less certain about his world than he was a few minutes ago…

Written by adswithoutproducts

February 17, 2009 at 10:48 am

Posted in such as it is

One Response

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  1. Brilliance, going unnoticed in the mellee of things,

    respfully, I bow to you.

    Tom. Liverpool, UK.

    Tom McFerran

    April 24, 2009 at 10:04 pm


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