And now, our prompt for today! Go outside. That’s about it. Take a walk, on this lovely Sunday. Or a drive. (Or if it’s not lovely where you are at all, maybe just remember your last good walk or drive). Take along a notebook if you can. Take notes. Maybe take a picture or two. And then sit down in a park or in your yard or on the corner, and write.
Not much to say about it. Just writing!
A Sunny Sunday, Knoxville, Tennesee.
Why would I go walking
When I have at my disposal
One Green Hornet?
Others might celebrate
With hams, or chocolate eggs,
Or other hardly Kosher,
But left up to me,
The stations of the Cross are more of
An opportunity to revive
Something that should, by all rights,
No longer survive.
So fire up the ’72 I do,
And under cloudless
Perfect mountain sky
I blaze a couple blocks;
Drop off my laundries;
Answer questions, his and hers,
About the Hornets
Birds and bees.
I guess it’s cheap of me to say
I’d just as soon Pass over
The details of the resurrection;
But I haven’t time to explicate
A carburetor’s workings
Any more than Gabriel K,
New York City, Medical Doctor,
Has to explain the pulmonary corrections
That cured the cancers,
Even if his is a model
Made in ’54,
And therefore somewhat prone
To more regular questions without answers.
Three days hence, again I rise,
Too early for my taste,
And surely prone to cold-water coughing,
Then twist the key in its place,
To wonder at the miracle
ON THE THIRD CRANK
HE AROSE FROM THE DEAD,
ASCENDED INTO SECOND,
SHIFTED BY THE RIGHT HAND
OF JOD WHO BOTHERED,
From thence, I picked up
The sheets for the bed,
Some holey t-shirts,
A reunion of pants.
And carried them home
In the back of a chariot
In the springtime,
Here’s a scathing piece on Texas summer and how it begins in March and ends in November.
Como siempre, la ola tejana se muestra más temprano que nunca,
It has always been and will always be.
Sin sombra, te empapas de sudor en tres minutos,
Poolside Keystone to forget that it’s barely April.
If you’ve never survived a Texas summer, then frankly,
No sabeis lo ques ‘la calol’
If you’ve never loved someone in the Texas heat, then honestly,
Tranquilo, que ahora es que falta pa que se acabe.