Saturday, September 30, 2017

 

Salty Altzy


The white lie delayed things a bit, but the
new Accountant waited still, finger poised
above iPad.

“Had to remember my cell number twice
today, and that pushed out my home number,
somehow. Uhhhh?”

Beat or two, thuds, and then Del recalled it.

Accountant acted as if it were quite natural,
but Del felt crushed.

Couldn’t even make a joke about Alzheimer
Moments etc.

What he imagined–-his personality–-was the
worst possible scenario. Like “Bury,” the
Undertaker, who roamed the seaside town
looking for fresh corpses not called in.

His daughter had caught up with him at
Murcheson Hardware, where old Clint
informed him that he’s not dead yet.
“Try in a couple of weeks, though.”

Sheila drove him directly to Dr Destiny
(name for real) at Bide a Bit.

He presently has a corner room full
of funerary knickknacks.

Quite tired each evening, since he
believes he works there.

Del leaves early that day and walks to
the cove. Sails are blinding.

His two sons arrive in daydream, bright
yet fuzzy.

“Wasting time?” asks Bink.

“What’s the difference? Long’s he
still knows he’s Dad!” adds Rentz.

They laugh. The bright sails laugh.
The whole salt day seems to.


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Comments:
plastic flowers is waterless vase. nice touch.
 
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