Friday, August 19, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #213



Hawk Season Notebook #213

You were never good with microphones... either too close or fearful-distant. Strong winds tonight through your non-native evergreens. It is county fair week in town. Home, you cut a slice of white cake, break it in half and share with the dog. Too old and late to worry about cavities. The other morning  you stumbled (pill-stoned for tooth extraction) into an oral surgeon's office... carrying both a six-foot leash and a small digital camera. The leash was confiscated, even though you assured everyone it was only a prop. But a beautiful nurse took selfies with you before the procedure. Afterward, the dentist posed, big smile of success. You were never good... speaking or singing into a microphone. Once, when fourteen, you made a wax (minute and a half) 45 rpm record in a carnival recording booth, a cover of Old Shep, a sentimental loss-of-dog Red Foley lyric. Tone deaf, with a yowl for a song, you mailed your well-packed (only copy) 45 to a radio station. You listened to their early morning DJ, dialed-in for weeks... relieved eventually that you had not told classmates to listen.

1 comment: