I tended to tip-toe around the house, room to room.
Not that it was necessarily a large house.
Not like I covered a great distance or anything like that.
It’s just that, well…the way the phone hung. On the kitchen wall.
Next to the refrigerator. Precariously.
I was cautious let’s say. Opening and shutting doors and matters of the like.

Watering the lawn? Not so much. The garage door? It mostly remained open or shut.
It was large and reeled-up in this clumsy jerk of a way. Karreenk! Karreenk! Kareenk!
So yeah, it remained open or shut mostly, and I parked at the curb.

Tuesdays were trash days.
I purchased plastic drums with rubber wheels.
I kept them at the side of the garage, by the ladder;
which pretty well much stayed put.
The clunking on the gutters in the Fall.
I taped socks to the ends. Even so.

The phone was green. You know.
The avocado green that supposedly went so well with the orange.
I told her, I said, “I think the one that rests on the counter all squatty like.”
She said, “But Clive, the counter-space, the residual that accumulates.”
“Wasted space Dear,” she said.

This motel room has a nice view.
Of the city. And palm trees.
All the fronds ratcheting.
I sit by the pool most days.
The pump shudders violently when it kicks on.


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