Poetry
Requiem for the Common Man, Or Fanfare of the Common Man, Or Possibly, Laundry
Ricky Garni
here's an interesting
surprise:
all the laundry on
the laundry line
was completely dry
by eight o'clock
in the morning
even though it had
rained fiercely
the night before,
so hard, in fact,
that I had to seek
shelter in a bike
store until it
closed.
'good night!'
they said,
but it was
still raining.
drat. I felt
like an ancient
king
who is not
allowed to be
touched by any
one, or by steel,
for some reason,
and therefore even
had to use
bronze
in order
to shave
or so I read
although by
morning everything
was dry on the
closeline. except
for one moist,
white, towel.
it had fallen down
and lay frozen
and desolute
on the ground.
I picked it up
and it felt
like a crinkly
dead body.
it was so
incredibly light
and stiff
and filled with so
many icy bits
that you wanted
to laugh and
laugh until
you couldn't
laugh anymore
and until
the towel . . .
it was dry
and normal