The Video Wolves
Dreamed 2009/2/23; Dreamverse #41
THAT DAY
My ex-girlfriend Cheryl leaves a message. She's in town, wants to drop off stuff of mine. I don't want to talk. Midday, I go help upgrade my poet-friend Patagia's computer, so I warn my housemates Cheryl might show up.
Later, my housemate Lily tells me Cheryl did come by with some small items. "Seemed just like an excuse to talk. She tried to make it sound like you dumped her, instead of the other way round. I wasn't buying it."
And Alder, usually more forgiving, is blunt. "Cheryl came by? I don't want her in this house! I didn't even exist to her; I endured her rudeness only for your sake. You were so patient with her demands! I'm amazed you lasted as long as you did."
I hadn't realized just how much Cheryl had alienated my friends.
THAT EVENING
I read Tamara Drewe by Posy Simmonds, a graphic novel about love affairs in a writer's colony. Every heartbreak get literary vultures circling... even the participants. "O woe, O woe! Wait, I can use this..." Even the sympathetic narrators hide ugly aspects to their lives:
I can't help applying it to Cheryl and me. Don't let it fester. A total break.
THAT NIGHT
I dream I'm standing barefoot on
Our driveway in the dim green dawn. I long to nightcrawl, prowl, explore the City scene--but my bare sole's sore. A hound of wire rolls up. Three wheels!
A second spidery roller veers
|
Headlights swivel. And a cy-
clopean videocamera eye. Souped-up chassies on the prowl. Silent wolfpack. Not a howl. Stalkers peering, casting round
I press hands in "Namaste" prayer,
Wolf-haloed til I wake. |
NOTES
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