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I’m enjoying the pleasures of writing with pointed words — as if this administration was Saint Sebastian and my arrows would sink in.
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Smart Person
He positioned himself behind the famed desk and signed with a broad black ‘You won’t forget ME’ felt pen whatever impressive document they handed him. Handpicked, they knew what he wanted. Thing is to delegate. He imagined himself that little boy on pajama flannels, straddling a rocketship like a bronco, lassoing comets as they threatened his mom, his dad, his elementary school. Hero, saves ‘em all. He adds his own flatulence to power the rocket, because (snicker) who’ll ever know?
He’s a very smart person.
Without his money — and it’s a lot, believe me — has he ever had a friend? Someone who could trust him? Without his lots of money — and he’s a known -ionaire — but no peeking! — would his family stay around? If he was just a schmuck?
But hey, he’s a very smart person.
Obama showed him how to be a man but he didn’t get it. He never looked relaxed or easy in his flesh or debonair like the Obamas kept doing. They do it on purpose. Mean. So what if his rear end’s a laughingstock? It looks Presidential, see? Presidential, because he’s the President. End of it.
He’s a very smart person.
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Immigrants With Pets
Immigrants with pets. What could you do but desert them when facing a risky rubber boat across the Mediterranean? Leave them behind to scavenge and beg. Missing you while you miss them but don’t dare, your kids need you strong. The kids miss the pet, how can they not? But all the acts of dislocation pour salt water over memories writ in bleedy ink. Or do you put the pet out of its misery-to-come? Do you? Or pay a distant cousin handy with a knife? So many choices to make as you leave behind your property deeds and mementos, your books, grandparents and lifetime friends.
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I’d enjoy your thoughts and comments.