Friday, May 23, 2014


Wax and the Lady

It’s hard to address a waxy box. Nothing writes on it, and labels fall off.

Yet Maxine gave him 52 of all sizes for his birthday.

“No you can give me something every week of the year!” she crowed.

He consulted Standing Bear of the Utes.

Turned her into actual crow.

She’s missed, and he’d still like a word with her from time to time.

But no crows have answered yet, though one stole his watch from a picnic table. He had taken it off 

to check his pulse.

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A waxy box, eh? Very stylish these days, although excess generally washed off.
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