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A Pocket Full of Laughing Shoestrings
A Pocket Full of Laughing Shoestrings
I wake up dancing. The washroom rings the doorbell
of my heart. (...) Scrub, scrub, scrub. I exfoliate with
plunging stock market quotes. The shower is no match
for my umbrella, though it does open theatrical shower
curtains. Let the show begin!
Toaster Man... he hands me his toast. Wow! Its crunch
ignites a mudslide! Shamelessly, my shoes flee before
I do. (Can't teach old treads new tricks.) (...) Boom,
boom, boom...
The road dances like a happy worm. (...) Pedestrians
slouch by with sad faces bigger than their heads. Trash
cans get muchies for memos, brochures, business cards,
political journals, television guides, receipts, and bank
statements. (...) My trousers hijack my signature dance
moves.
I pawn off my cares. These pair of legs provide me with
enough happiness. (...) Mailboxes, street lights, public
phones, windmills, wind sounds, road turtles, fall leaves,
dust devils, and imaginations dance, laugh, dance, and...
laugh about dancing, and dance about laughing.
Boom, boom, boom. My heartbeat ignites a woodland
dance party. Like confetti, they drop snails, acorns, rain
drops, sweat drops, and issues. The sky gets the word
and strobes us down with bolts as she sips and sips her
energy drink.
