One pig wore a wig as
Two geese in fleece charged the police.
Three cows in the field failed to yield, and
Four big chickens ran like the dickens.
Five little ponies hid fried baloney, while
Six barn cats ran skittery skat.
Seven goats sped away in a boat, leaving
Eight hoot owls screaming foul.
Nine wooly sheep failed to peep, when
Ten thick hens fled their pens.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
4. four big chickens ran like the dickens
She rode in the street, although Saturday traffic was heavy at noon. This made Richard grip the steering wheel tightly. The math of following someone on bike while in a car did not align, and he waited in parking lots ahead of her six times before he lost her completely. He rolled down the window; the spots on the glass obscured his thoughts.
In the backseat, Phillip also rolled down his window. And then he rolled it back up.
They cruised the rectangle block and then the next and then the one adjacent to that and so on for 42 minutes. Richard could not comprehend his own behavior, and he worried of this until tapping on the glass in the rear of the vehicle interrupted his concern. Phillip knocked on the window while staring pointedly at the large green across the street. The girl named Dolores, followed by a shaggy gangle of a dog, opened the chain-link gate between a row of backyards and the park, unclipped the dog's leash, and threw a tennis ball into the empty green. Phillip knocked on the glass once more and then rolled it down.
Richard had no plan. "There is nothing to do," he said.
Phillip thumped the rubber soles of his heels together. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. He raised his library book above his head.
"Right," said Richard. He parked alongside the curb, helped Phillip out of his car seat, and locked the doors. "Here," he grabbed Phillip's hand as they crossed the street. He understood this was how fathers and young sons crossed streets together--hands clasped low-v, bodies forming misshapen m. He wished Phillip would hurry.
Richard stopped them on the sidewalk, his toes one inch from the green. There was no paved walking path into the center of the park. Richard did not like walking on the grass. He pictured clods of dirt pasting grass and dead insects to the treads on the undersides of his loafers.
"Todd!" Dolores called after the dog. The dog dropped the ball and barked, dropped its shoulders to the ground and left its rump in the air.
Richard cleared his throat. Phillip's pinky bone felt fragile in his hand. Richard worried children were too delicate to survive into adulthood. There must be a way to reinforce their underdeveloped structures, the way one might reinforce the legs of a weathered bench. "We're going to that table," he said to Phillip, pointing to a picnic table in the middle of the shade cast by a crooked oak tree. "I will release your hand. Do not dawdle, please."
Richard let go Phillip's hand, and Phillip shot across the lawn. The plastic library goodie bag banged into his elbow and then his hip each time his right foot met the ground. Richard had noticed more than once that Phillip, other than his inability or unwillingness to speak, did not share his peculiarities. The boy did not balk at mess, tangle, or uncertainty. Richard considered Nadia may have lied, the DNA test may have been inaccurate, and that the child was not, in fact, his.
Richard pulled Phillip's library books close to his chest and quick-stepped across the park, leaning his weight onto the balls of his feet. They'd had no rain for several days, and the ground was dry. The grass was brittle, and Richard knew what it would feel like if he took off his shoes and socks and went barefoot. When he reached the picnic table, he sat on the top and rested his feet flat on the bench: elevated.
The dog named Todd submitted the ball to the girl named Dolores, and once again she threw it. It rolled under a thick green bush with white blooms.
"Your book, Phillip." Phillip sat next to him and folded his hands in his lap. His right foot went bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce, and Richard tried not to notice. He opened the book (also pretending that a borrowed book was not riddled with bacteria) and began to read aloud, steadily, without the sing-song ditty he despised in children's storytelling.
The dog named Todd yapped and clawed at the dirt beneath the bush.
"…three cows in the field failed to yield. Four big chickens ran like the dickens. Five little ponies…" bounce bounce bounce bounce. "Five little ponies…" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce. "Five…"
The picnic table shook lightly as Phillip leapt to the ground and sprinted across the green to the bush with the white flowers. "Phillip!" Richard shouted. Phillip sidled in beside the dog who seemed to only barely notice. Phillip's head and torso disappeared into the foliage. Richard stood on the picnic table bench. The grass was too brittle. He knew how it would feel. "Phillip!" The soles of his shoes were not thick enough. He mapped the terrain from the table to the dog and the boy and now the young woman named Dolores.
Phillip scooted backwards and reappeared, his hair swooshed one way and another, a confusing mash of geometric opposition. Phillip held the ball above his head then offered it to the dog. Dolores smiled and said something Richard could not hear. Phillip threw the ball toward the picnic table, and the dog gave chase, its snout split wide with teeth in a canine grin. The ball rolled under the table and stopped. Three unidentifiable insects skittered around the ball and under a mound of loose dirt. The dog smelled of sweat and river mud as he hunkered low and army crawled under the bench. His back knocked the underside of the bench, and Richard felt the vibration in his jaw.
"Hello, stranger," said Dolores. Phillip hopped beside her. "Doing okay?"she smiled and nodded toward Richard's feet, immovable on the bench. The dog completed its retrieval, smacked its gums, and snorted.
"I am not myself." Richard climbed down from the bench and winced. A thin trickle of breeze swiped at the skin of his stomach, and he realized with alarm that his shirt had come untucked again.
Jesus, you are unfortunate, he heard.
"Phillip, it's time to go." He balled his fists. "Phillip."
Phillip slipped one hand into the young woman's hand. "Oh," she said.
In the backseat, Phillip also rolled down his window. And then he rolled it back up.
They cruised the rectangle block and then the next and then the one adjacent to that and so on for 42 minutes. Richard could not comprehend his own behavior, and he worried of this until tapping on the glass in the rear of the vehicle interrupted his concern. Phillip knocked on the window while staring pointedly at the large green across the street. The girl named Dolores, followed by a shaggy gangle of a dog, opened the chain-link gate between a row of backyards and the park, unclipped the dog's leash, and threw a tennis ball into the empty green. Phillip knocked on the glass once more and then rolled it down.
Richard had no plan. "There is nothing to do," he said.
Phillip thumped the rubber soles of his heels together. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. He raised his library book above his head.
"Right," said Richard. He parked alongside the curb, helped Phillip out of his car seat, and locked the doors. "Here," he grabbed Phillip's hand as they crossed the street. He understood this was how fathers and young sons crossed streets together--hands clasped low-v, bodies forming misshapen m. He wished Phillip would hurry.
Richard stopped them on the sidewalk, his toes one inch from the green. There was no paved walking path into the center of the park. Richard did not like walking on the grass. He pictured clods of dirt pasting grass and dead insects to the treads on the undersides of his loafers.
"Todd!" Dolores called after the dog. The dog dropped the ball and barked, dropped its shoulders to the ground and left its rump in the air.
Richard cleared his throat. Phillip's pinky bone felt fragile in his hand. Richard worried children were too delicate to survive into adulthood. There must be a way to reinforce their underdeveloped structures, the way one might reinforce the legs of a weathered bench. "We're going to that table," he said to Phillip, pointing to a picnic table in the middle of the shade cast by a crooked oak tree. "I will release your hand. Do not dawdle, please."
Richard let go Phillip's hand, and Phillip shot across the lawn. The plastic library goodie bag banged into his elbow and then his hip each time his right foot met the ground. Richard had noticed more than once that Phillip, other than his inability or unwillingness to speak, did not share his peculiarities. The boy did not balk at mess, tangle, or uncertainty. Richard considered Nadia may have lied, the DNA test may have been inaccurate, and that the child was not, in fact, his.
Richard pulled Phillip's library books close to his chest and quick-stepped across the park, leaning his weight onto the balls of his feet. They'd had no rain for several days, and the ground was dry. The grass was brittle, and Richard knew what it would feel like if he took off his shoes and socks and went barefoot. When he reached the picnic table, he sat on the top and rested his feet flat on the bench: elevated.
The dog named Todd submitted the ball to the girl named Dolores, and once again she threw it. It rolled under a thick green bush with white blooms.
"Your book, Phillip." Phillip sat next to him and folded his hands in his lap. His right foot went bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce, and Richard tried not to notice. He opened the book (also pretending that a borrowed book was not riddled with bacteria) and began to read aloud, steadily, without the sing-song ditty he despised in children's storytelling.
The dog named Todd yapped and clawed at the dirt beneath the bush.
"…three cows in the field failed to yield. Four big chickens ran like the dickens. Five little ponies…" bounce bounce bounce bounce. "Five little ponies…" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce. "Five…"
The picnic table shook lightly as Phillip leapt to the ground and sprinted across the green to the bush with the white flowers. "Phillip!" Richard shouted. Phillip sidled in beside the dog who seemed to only barely notice. Phillip's head and torso disappeared into the foliage. Richard stood on the picnic table bench. The grass was too brittle. He knew how it would feel. "Phillip!" The soles of his shoes were not thick enough. He mapped the terrain from the table to the dog and the boy and now the young woman named Dolores.
Phillip scooted backwards and reappeared, his hair swooshed one way and another, a confusing mash of geometric opposition. Phillip held the ball above his head then offered it to the dog. Dolores smiled and said something Richard could not hear. Phillip threw the ball toward the picnic table, and the dog gave chase, its snout split wide with teeth in a canine grin. The ball rolled under the table and stopped. Three unidentifiable insects skittered around the ball and under a mound of loose dirt. The dog smelled of sweat and river mud as he hunkered low and army crawled under the bench. His back knocked the underside of the bench, and Richard felt the vibration in his jaw.
"Hello, stranger," said Dolores. Phillip hopped beside her. "Doing okay?"she smiled and nodded toward Richard's feet, immovable on the bench. The dog completed its retrieval, smacked its gums, and snorted.
"I am not myself." Richard climbed down from the bench and winced. A thin trickle of breeze swiped at the skin of his stomach, and he realized with alarm that his shirt had come untucked again.
Jesus, you are unfortunate, he heard.
"Phillip, it's time to go." He balled his fists. "Phillip."
Phillip slipped one hand into the young woman's hand. "Oh," she said.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)