Isn’t it funny how the memories you cherish before a breakup can become your worst enemies afterwards? The thoughts you loved to think about, the memories you wanted to hold up to the light and view from every angle–it suddenly seems a lot safer to lock them in a box, far from the light of day and throw away the key. It’s not an act of bitterness. It’s an act if self-preservation. It’s not always a bad idea to stay behind the window and look out at life instead, is it?
– Allyson Braithwaite Condi
Pulled out of town like I was being chased.
Four miles gone from Venice, Florida,
Bella Nova says with the sigh of a lighter soul,
“I feel better already.”
Only silence for the next mile.
“There’s a second honeymoon atmosphere today,
sports fans,” was my belated response.
“When was the first one?”
The Black Gang was
ten human years older when we
arrived back in Oregon. Today,
he’s top dog for a vineyard out on
the west slopes of rural Damnhill County.
Perot country. The grape has no natural enemy,
I remind you.
Hiawatha Moscowitz is hot
tubbing with lesbians and
writing a self-help book entitled
COPING WITH A PSYCHO:
A WOMAN’S PRIVATE TORMENT.
I am Barker Ajax
and I am free to go.