(no subject)
Lou sat down at his manual typewriter, and typed out a methodical cinqain, the old two, four, six, eight, two set. Lou had been reading The Tao of Pooh, and was thinking about potency, the potency of the Tao. It seemed Aristotelian to him, for some reason. Potential leading to a possible actual in the form of a final cause.
Uncarved
The summer
Seems from spring stance
Not fully ripe - not yet
“It could go anywhere,” you say,
“Maybe.”
He rolled the sheet out of the platen. It was a flyer for a concert at a local coffee shop last May. He read it out loud and took a leak with the bathroom door open. It didn’t matter, Lou lived alone. He didn’t flush, or wash his hands.
With a dull thumbtack, Lou pinned the poem to the kitchen wall. He sat down at the table, and made a list with a pencil and a brown paper bag.
Summer, Lou thought, needed some direction.
William Comparetto
© 2007