Shirley

Even If   Mind roils and boils, world’s ending. If can get some nerve, leave bed. Cold trip to night kitchen. Glug of milk, dose of choco powder, push nuker button. Pad cup to grizzly frizzly chair, frowzy lamp. Scrabble for pages. Gaze and sip, gaze and sip, till— Till nod nod Till heavy heavy Till drag down, drag down, drag down. Stay put, not wake up enough of bones to soft leg back to bed. Just feeble reach and switch off light. Sag low, lower, lower, whole way to knocked out. Usually works. And even if. Once, toddy overbubbles overfloods. Still’s some left. Fuzzy lamp and fuzzy head. Dims dims dims. Stills enough to sinker, low down to nothing.    

Framed-Art Tour, Exhibit 15   You almost can’t see the cat puddled along the windowsill. And to get a grander picture, you must bend your nose to each piece of the story. For example, this one, and this one.   But even then, that won’t do. So here’s the book (it’s also here—the whole thing ). After chopping up my thrift-s hop copy for its illustrations, I had t o go find a nother .   The cat is a nuisance and a pest, in the eyes of Mr. Foster, the hotel manager. He uses Mr. Foster’s toothbrush—the cat hairs are evidence. “ Cat whiskers!” cried Mr. Foster. The cat rides the elevator when he wants, eats the night clerk’s tuna sandwiches, thinks the lobby is his own living room. Mr. Foster intends to shoo the animal for good, once the rain stops. Maybe it sounds terrible—my cutting up a book. But isn’t this vandalizing what a junk store is all about, really—its mission? Its used and useful ethos? And e ven if m y objets d’art lack the gravitas of somebody’s act...