Mar 1 2011 11:20 am
You created an identity. So did I. We built them from whatever crude pieces of life were strewn about our childhood. The color of the wallpaper in the kitchen. The can of tuna fish we buried with the cat. The way all the ants were crawling on her nose under the spruce in the front yard and we knew right away she was dead. The hot air balloon that floated low over the garden and we ran and we ran through the field but it went down past some trees far away and we were frustrated, our little head full of rage, our little fists shaking, our little blue striped white socks flashing in the tall grass as we ran back towards the house. The way our dad smelled before work. After shave. The way his starched white collar scratched on his stubble by the end of the day.
From memories incorporeal come identities performed, like raising a pile of metal shavings with a magnet. And for my next trick!
Bad posture, that one. Bad hair too. No life in him. Looks a walking mummy he does. The stonegray beard once full of Atlantic gale. Of sea spray. Of a tartan long and long faded, diluted with the rest of Europe like a cup overfilled.
“To which particular boosing shed?”
“Ta the one that overfills me coop!”