Creatures

I have closed the glass door against the windy day. Four green tomatoes that had been growing next my front sewer line – product of an earlier disaster – sit hopefully on my rear step. Doubtful they will ripen. I’m following links to obscure bands, typically with dead members who in turn need to be pursued more closely still. Saturday morning. What should I be constructively doing? I have already washed up. Since I cleaned the table, it no longer serves as central focus. Instead it establishes a vantage – a flat platform set amongst the woods, with odd creatures dashing from tree to tree in the mid-distance, gnashing their teeth, refusing to appear as anything but dark shapes. I feel at liberty to disregard them, to sink into my uncomfortable chair. I am waiting for the day to obtain shape, to discover its proper identity, to rise up on its haunches and then, in a fitful moment, fall on its back writhing and foaming at the mouth. Not yet.