John Updike in Bermudas

Spinster 100 x 80 x 2 cm - mixed media on linen canvas

 

 

 

THE 4th

 

It’s the 4^th, as it always is

this time of year, even the police

peaceful today handing out ice-cream to

graceful multi-hued children who have never

known public strangulation; for whom pepper spray

is something you squirt on your salad.

 

All trees are impressive here, really

big, excellent timber. There are no snipers in the branches.

And yet what if the wind fell through their leaves

then went ripping down the sidewalk  

blowing roughly one-third of Kansas

and a hefty chunk of Missouri off the map,

threatening Arkansas and impressive swaths

of Oklahoma with utter devastation? What would we do then?

 

I don’t know about you, but I would pour

another drink; let someone else deal with it. I gave

at the home office ha-ha. There’s plenty on my plate e.g.

“Next Door Liz” has just flashed me. Or am I hallucinating? Nope,

she gives an encore: up with the sun dress—no panties—

then down again. Another perilous day in the bush, my dear Livingston.  

Yo, Liz. Wassup? Such exuberance reminds me

of the 60’s. Depravity in the burbs redux; John

Updike in Bermuda shorts. True, Stockholm refused

to give him the Big One, but he did have fabulous legs.