or
Just in the Nap of Time
don't you hate those rude interruptions.
you're napping perfectly soundly,
then this guy calls you
with an offer of a
meagre/miserly
$8.25/hr
to start
on a monday yet.
i sure put him in his place.
then this grandmotherly inuit woman
comes along like out of last night's dream & gives
me such a swift kick eye wind up airborne & in siberia,
working six feet under the zastrugi (as the russians
call that kind of snow) as shippereceiver
for a non-swiss family partially
named robinson.
and on a monday yet.
far cry from
my man
friday
gig.
talk about
your snow crash.
never judge a flake-farming
job by its crust, even if the hiro
calls himself protagonist when he's not
the deliverator, taking slices out
of the competition
Paul Friesen-Myassoff
on an Anal-Retentive Case
of Chilled Champagne
and Unduly
Elated
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