I found a hole along the path the other day, so I picked it up & put it in my pocket. By the time I got home I lost it – so I mailed the pocket to my sweetheart to sew it up. Lost my sweetheart in the mail, but the hole showed up again – dropped Tuesday in the hole. Tuesday is garbage & recycling day; everything happens on Tuesday – and now it is Wednesday & the air is angry with thunder and snow that is hard popcorn.
In summary, Thursday sulked because it is Thor’s day and the sky was clear because Wednesday used up all the thunder, so by time Friday arrived there was a letter in the mail. It was the capital Q. It curled up around the unanswered sighs and cracked coffee cups, purring in satisfaction and turquoise. That sort of thing happens on Existential Fridays – the hole ate its edges with worry and baking paper. All that was left was the humming of an unfinished pop song in the electric socket. Socket rhymes with pocket, which showed up on the doorstep with a kiss from my sweetheart who I had forgotten – memory is is like that sometimes, Swiss cheese and jalapeno peppers .