Provencial Creeping

300 words entry seven Provencial Creeping

There was a bit of that old transgression, that neighborhood, childhood gang

That handed out enemy name tags to the new kids and had secret hiding places down at the railroad tracks

I felt the backward shame of those name tag enemies with their huddles shovels all in a row gleaming some huge unnecessary hatred towards heaven

Get your own gang or make it cooler the one you got but I guess if you ain’t born with it

Last week she threw those peapod peat pods at the neighbors in a rage and I calmly lit a cigarette as madness ensued

Then I went and was mean to an introvert

That old Marine that hangs out at the strip club spending his wife’s life insurance policy came by on a motorcycle today while I was fanning the flames and planting flowers…the leaves are huge and this fall unfolding in not the one I meant for, hoped for, planned for but like before it’s here with dangerous edges of boredom and crystal clear lakes and biting fish,

Like before I’m sitting here trying to explain midnight to the setting sun

And in the quiet shadowy dusk I hear the whistle of a train, the rumble of a Night Train

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