We're not in Hamilton anymore. On a crowded posh balcony, I saw the city council excising the mayor's appendix with a rusted borrowed crucifix. Haunted by the train derailment of '96, Jefferson middle school played a game of chicken on the Turnpike Extension. They screamed when they lost. The tree tops were bare, the branches cracked a bluebonnet sky. And the storms rolled in from PA. Yes, the storms rolled in from PA. Jimmy will you hum a few bars with me, the sorcerer said, picking scraps from my stoop. We're all going to Hell anyway. We sang a birthday dirge, while the dogs barked and bayed. Some of the street zombies walked on. But some of them sure stayed. It was high noon, but they're always hungry anyway. Elementary teachers hike up your skirts, put away your primrose pince-nez, Enos Jones has fallen, Van Vorst is a crying mess. We've got to battle our way over to Paulus Hook, or by crook.
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Alfred C. Martino
Updates from everyday life as seen by me