6.2.19

2 out of 9
farther along in November
The swamp thing awoke me on its recurring cycle of heating + relaxing spinning + creaking with off-balanced ticking like a card in the spokes of a stingray with a sissy-bar like a timer on a time bomb reinterpreted reengineered in mind as the radio station droning traffic conditions conditions for traffic you need a lot of cars you need too little road you need loss of time upon investigation the metal fan box revealed a lightly frozen over casing — not loosened by a verbal cuss coaxing (whoa to the Legion of Decency) nor swinging a rubber mallet — on the third chance to remedy a heat-gun flashed to mind I hooked up an extension cord then I hooked up an extension cord then I hooked up an extension cord to make it within reaching distance blasting hot air aiming at the sinister hi-pitched warblery sound that smells of cat litter + base elements holding fast + then backed away as the alarming noise pitched up + fell reduced to a low roar of a smaller scary animal easily taken + understood being less than what it had been it worked swell for a bit after that as I hit my toe so hard on a table leg retch without vomit +  the bed had gotten cold but if I was given the native american name Shoots Hot Air At Her Heat Pump At Midnight it was worth it. 

3 comments:

  1. Her initials would be SHAAHHPAM.

    Just call her Shaahhpam.

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  2. it's a good name, better than Two Beers

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  3. Hahahaha. Whatever works. My extension chords are never long enough either!

    ReplyDelete