too damned busy

There’ve been more trips back and forth to Baton Rouge in the last two weeks than I’ve done in my entire life. I’m exhausted (and sick), but hopefully, here for a couple of weeks without interruption. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, there’s been no more chances to shoot anything since the last shoot, and no time to photoshop stuff, which is disappointing. The whole idea here was for me to write and do photography and I’ve done neither. Baby sat the kidlet for about eight days total (another reason I’m worn out). Three-year-olds should be harnessed for energy and we’d never do without. I know I’m not original in that opinion, but geez.

Found out last night the other kid is going to have a kid of his own. Much joy and exclamation ensued. I have no doubt they’ll do fine, but he’s fairly terrified. It’s going to be hysterical watching that.

I’m fighting internet problems on top of everything else. They’ve been out to fix it and discovered something else major which was affecting us, so they’re getting it fixed (I think). I’m supposed to have a new superfast modem on Monday. I’ll believe that when I see it.

Meanwhile, the other night, I wrote this. A poem, I suppose, though in this day, nearly every Twitter stream is a realm of poetry, so who knows what counts anymore.

Relief

 

There’s a man

beneath our

third floor window

who is cursing

out someone or

something—it doesn’t seem

to make that much of a difference to him

as he’s switched subjects several

times now. I have to credit

him with a prodigious

use of fuck, though

he’s not had much

imagination

with it. I somehow think

one should expect more

of someone who decides

to curse so volubly,

so publicly.

At least

entertain us: this is the French Quarter.

His cursing has

almost-but-not-quite

blotted out the strains of a

Billy Joel song

sung by a guy who’s

got a great voice for it,

some two

blocks away.

I think this may

be the twenty-seventh time I’ve

heard this set.

The bikers who

regularly rule

the bar below roar into

their parking spots

and a minute

later, I notice the

cursing man

is gone.

Probably not entirely

voluntarily.

Now I can hear

the next song in the

line up, clear as a gong,

as if that

singer were right below my

window.

I miss the cursing man.

I used to really like Billy Joel.


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Toni

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