Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Coyote in the Backyard

One time when I was going along,
I picked up the newspaper.
It was on the table in the coffee shop.
I looked at the headlines.
Something about a someone selling a war.
I did not read the article.
There was a foto of a happy cheerleader on the front page.

Well, I was in a hurry.
And I just scanned the pages.
Looking for who lied.
Looking for who died.
Looking for who cried.
Nobody that I knew.

Right there on page 7.
The bottom of page 7.
The lower right hand corner of page 7.
Section B, I beleve it was.
Was a small article of great importance.

A Mrs. Jones had called animal control.
She had heard a noise in her backyard.
An annoying disturbance, it was.
So she had looked out the kitchen window.
And she saw a coyote running around the backyard.
He was trying to get out.
He was digging.
Dirt was flying.
The neighbor's dogs were howling.
Her backyard was fully fenced.
Fully fenced with chain link.
The kind that keeps critters in and out.
So she was surprised to see a wild beast in her backyard.
So she called animal control.

Mrs. Jones has a small house in the Russian bottoms.
She lives near Saint Casimir's Catholic Church.
She lives just off of Gordon Drive.
She is retired.
She is a widow.
Mr. Jones use to work as a meat cutter for Swift.
She raised a big family.
And now she lived alone.
And now a coyote had invaded her yard.
And now she has called animal control.

Well the article on page 7 goes on to tell us what happened.
Bob Larson from animal control had taken the call.
He was there in ten minutes.
He had come in the small white pickup.
He was ready.
He had a gun.
He had a rope.
He had a bag full of stuff.
He walked to Mrs. Jones's backyard.
The coyote was gone.
There was no hole under the fence.
There was no way for the coyote to escape.
Mrs. Jones was sure that she had seen him.
The neighbor dogs were watching carefully.

Bob Larson had to file his report.
Report of coyote in backyard.
No coyote in backyard.

Page 8 had a notice to be on the lookout for a peddler.
A door to door peddler with a beard.
A peddler with a strong smell.
A peddler trying to sell empty bottles.
Last seen near Gordon Drive.
Do not open the door for him.
Call the police right away.

So I finished my espresso.
And then I drove to work.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Flat Tire for the Yellow Car

Back when I owned the Yellow Car,
the Yellow Car that was not yellow,
I came out of my apartment.
I needed to start my car.
It was a cold morning.
I was running late.
I found a note on the windshield.
It was under the wiperblade.

The note said " I seen somebody cut your tire last night.
They live in that big white house with the sofa on the porch."
The note was not signed.
An anonymous tip from the neighborhood snitch.

I walked around my 1984 Chevrolet Caprice.
The right front tire was flat.
Damn, I am going to be late to work, I thought.
I went back into my apartment.
I called Virgil's gas station.
They sent somebody right over.
They are only 3 blocks away.
They took my tire and rim with them.
I rode with them.
They dropped me at the Pierce Street Coffee Works.
I drank my morning espresso
while Virgil put a new tire on my rim.
Well it was not a new tire.
They are really expensive.
He sold me a used one for ten dollars.
So, I got a ride back to my car
and they put the tire back on.
It was then that I noticed that every car on the block
had flat tires.
They got to Jack's car. Retired gas company worker.
They got to Larry's car. Retired astrologer.
They got to Emma's car. Waitress at the casino.
They got to that big buick that has not moved for three months.
They got to all the cars.

I went to work.
Only ten minutes late.
I told them what happened.
Not a problem.
I called the cops.
I did not tell them about the note.
They said that they would check it out when they had time.
They said that at most the tire slasher would be fined fifty bucks.

After work I went to that big white house with the sofa on the porch.
Some kid answered the door. Maybe twelve years old.
He was the cousin of Scooby, one of the guys that lives there.
I asked for Scooby.
Scooby came to the door.
He was wearing his cholo clothes.
Real tough guy.
I told him about the tires.
I told him that somebody had seen him do it.
He said somebody cut his tires last month.
I asked him if he thought that I did it.
Or if Jack did it.
Or if Larry did it.
Or if Emma did it.
I told him we all live in this part of town because we have no money.
I told him if he wants to cut tires,
he should go a mile north where the rich people live.
I told him that he has been shitting in his own nest.
And that he has to stop.
He has to stop disrespecting the people.
I said that the cops won't come for him.
But that the people in the neighborhood would.
Scooby was looking a little uncomfortable.

Hey, Scooby moved.
There has been no more tire slashing around here.
I have moved.
Jack moved to another place down the street.
Larry is in a nursing home.
I don't know where Emma is.
The big Buick got towed away.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Plastic Shopping Bags

You get these all the time at a store.
You get white ones.
You get brown ones.
You get big ones.
You get little ones.

They hold the stuff that you bought.
The stuff you needed.
The stuff you wanted.

When you get home you empty the bags.
Sometimes you throw the bags away.
Sometimes you keep them.
Sometimes you reuse them.
Sometimes the bags get emptied right after you leave the store.

Now when you look out your window.
Or when you walk down the sidewalk.
Or when you drive down the street.
These plastic bags are everywhere.

They are in the gutters.
They are high up in the trees.
They are blowing around.
People think that they are ugly.
That they are a nuisance.

But let me tell you what I think.
These bags that are outside...
I like them.
I respect them.

You maybe want to know why?
Well here is why.
You see when people think things
and when the wish things
and when they say things
all these things got to go somewhere.

In the old days they would often just blow apart
Dissapate in the wind so to speak.
Pieces would get stuck here and there.
Maybe on a thorn bush.
Maybe on a cow pie in the prairie.

Well that still happens sometimes.
But now with modern society and all...
something else happens.
They get caught in these plastics bags.
At least for a little while.
There is some sort of electro-chemistry set thing going on.
You don't need to know the details.
Suffice it to say that there is a lot of interesting stuff in these bags that are floating around or stuck in trees.
I have found that the best stuff is up high in the trees.
But the bags in the gutters have some good stuff too.
A different quality for sure.
Depends what you are into.
The philosophical stuff is usually high up in the trees.
Or some place elevated.
I kind of lean toward the plastic bags that are in the gutter.
But that is just me.

Go out and find a plastic bag in the wild.
Not one in your drawer.
Walk up to it.
First examine and reflect upon the location where you found it.
Breath in the air around it.
Smell it.
Experience the sensuallity of it all.
Become one with it or at the very least a close friend.
Then carefully and I mean very carefully pick it up.
Do not spill the contents.
Do not shake it.
Stay focused.
Now put the open bag close to your face.
Breath in the contents while pinching the bottom of the bag.
Empty all of the air.
Take it all in.
It is now part of you.
Later you can mentabolize it.
Do not disrespect the bag.
Do not throw it away.
Carefully roll it up.
It has been burdened with thoughts and passions.
Wrap it with some tape or twine if you are of the organic persuasion.
Then take it home and send it to a landfill for proper burial.
Please do not do what this one guy does.
He takes them home and tacks them to his wall as trophies.
That is disrespectful and also unhealthy.
I do approve of burning the bags.

I hope this has been of some help to you.