"Fair of Face"
" -- the child that is born on the Sabbath day
is bonny and blithe, and good and gay."
A kid's first love is his car smooth as orange rind in the grip of a turn.
The orange knows only the oranges it touches in the bin, friendly mouths.
The mouth is a part composed of two parts, they touch and do not touch.
The parts-store up the road sells individual screws, one screw at a time.
A screw is a thought with threads, an idea that sticks, a fastening ramrod.
This is not engaging.
My neighbor has two large dogs that grumble low against the night. I've not seen them.
A grumble is a whisper with action, a grumble is the morning of a yell.
Morning is a set of hours that come with instructions and a specific meal.
We are instructed all the time, we see signs bordered in color, we follow them.
A roadsign up the road from me says STOP and someone has written in WAR.
This is not unique.
A teenager's first love is his reflection quick as a car in the grip of a turn.
A reflection is a mathematical opposite, a switching of quadrants, a little kiss.
A kiss is composed of two mouths which are each composed of two parts.
A composition -- a complication, a set of bars and marks, a cage, a cavea.
I have known many men named Mark. They walk funny, shoulders slumped in.
This is not unusual.
© 2009 W.F. Roby
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