| …and as I am waiting in my car under a partial sun, with the air condition blowing mercilessly at the scars of my broken knee, and as the noise of my running motor gets overpowered by a pneumatic hammer of a nearby street worker, I think of the little birdies in the woods, how they sing and play with their offspring babies, just as the babies in the strollers here all around me are proliferating ever more, and the women are beginning to wear skirts again all over New York, and like the Irish back pipers who also don’t carry underwear under their skirts, while the fact remains that I don’t like back pipe playing quite as much as lemon ice cream, even though I refrain from eating any of it, so my fingers don’t get stiff from the cold and I can continue to write about stiff body parts, which get the stiffest once we are dead, although (hopefully) there is still a long way until that happens, a road every bit as long as the Russian tanks that have been driving all the way from Moscow to Georgia, while here in Central Park the trees are getting greener by the day, even though the Park Conservancy is begging for money again, so the famous elm trees won’t get eaten up by those bark-beetles who will survive our Last Judgment Day by millions of years, since they can eat all the interior of our Planet Earth, which is filled and governed by hydro-carbons, just as Marie-Antoinette also governed those French cake-eaters before the 1789 Revolution and as the streets of New York are governed by a lot of police cars who slapped me with a ticket just yesterday for a full one hundred and sixty-five dollars, whereupon I pronounced a biblical curse upon them, which will harm them a lot more than the benefit of those few dollars. |