My neighbor takes his time with the locks. I hear each of them click, latch, bolt, catch. Nice sounds. He’s been doing this for six going on seven years. Perseverance. When he’s finished, I hear him pausing before going to the elevator. Well done, he’s thinking to himself.
Osama bin Laden was killed today. The weather forecast is mainly cloudy with a shower in the afternoon. For the United States’ bombing and molestation of Serbia, I bought a black leather jacket. For Haiti I bought a pair of boots a size too big. For the occupation and bloodlust in Iraq, I bought a gold-tasseled shawl. For the invasion and abuse of Afghanistan, it was mink ear muffs. For the slaughter and screaming in Pakistan, a harlequin cashmere cardigan all in shameless red.
For the killing of Osama bin Laden I am going to sing a little ditty today at 11. Or maybe I’ll wait for the shower in the afternoon.
This is the ditty I will sing:
Power. Power. There is a mower death yclept. Hath power that the lord hath kept.
When he begins his scythe to whet, keener it grows and keener yet
Soon will he slash, man must endure the gash. Soon will he slash.
“Yclept” means “named.” The origin of the word is shrouded in the mists of time. Long long ago. Before 1000 AD.
For the next US slashing, I’m going to buy a Titanium Tracker .357 Magnum field gun to kill skunks with. There’s an infestation of them up here where I live. It’s illegal to kill them; they’re a protected species. Just thinking of harming a hair on the heads of the poor little cute little skunks makes some people want to cry. So maybe I’ll buy a cabin in the woods, like Thoreau.