A Brush with Stupidity

I don’t know what the odds are of winding up with only Charmin flushable wet wipes, and Hanes boxer-brief underwear on your Wal-Mart shopping list. I am not that kind of Aspie.

I am, however, the kind of Aspie who makes it all the way to the last-minute fried chicken stand—you know, by the one-dollar movie bin, there in front of the 20-items-or-less lanes—before realizing the implications of purchasing new underwear and wet wipes… and nothing else.

It's amazing I have made it this far in life.        

On Passing Mt. Olive Cemetery

From the clay atop yesterday's grave, moist and yet to yellow, Robin's glean a morning meal with all the joys of spring. 

I found a feather in a mouse hole, and yesterday it rained. The fire’s burned down to charcoal, and it’s getting cold again. Old Harold Graves has passed away, and I’m fixed to buy his land. I’ll be a feather in a mouse hole, just like Peter Pan.