Life Passes You By
The Age of Reason. The Iron Age. The iron horse. The steel trap. The better mouse trap. Cunnilingus in a sausage factory. Fellatio in the Eiffel Tower. Clever people put their heads together and out pops a euphemism. A virgin birth, first step toward a rosy crucifixion. There must be some way out of here without being turned into Plastic Man.
Pop culture, popcorn, soda pop and a double-feature matinée. It’s dark when you get outside again, and you can’t find your car. You jangle your keys in your pocket and whistle. Maybe it will come like a dog.
Come like a dog! Flashbacks to the sausage factory and the Eiffel Tower. Bad dog! Heel!
People give you a wide berth, get in their own cars and drive off. The parking lot’s empty.
You don’t even report the thing stolen. You walk all the way home and go in through the back door. Inside in the dark there’s a cuckoo bird blapping off the windows and ceiling. You chase it around with a spatula, but it’s too quick for you. You settle down over yesterday’s mail and rip open the top envelope. Read it by candlelight.
A Norwegian girl, who a long time ago took you to Valhalla and back, has settled in Paris where spring has erupted in cherry blossoms. She’s just spent the whole afternoon at an outdoor cafe drinking espresso with a German.
The candle blows out in a back draft, and you realize that life has passed you by.