2005-02-28 9:42 p.m. We strapped your baby to the back of the robot and piece by piece emptied our pockets of change, each coin in the robot's slot buying more distance he'll travel so we'll never have to watch green snot dry on your baby's upper lip again. In time, you will come to forget the baby for periods of up to an hour. But never completely. You'll buy maps and blur the roads and rivers with your tears while making perfect circles with your compass, the point set where your baby disappeared and the pen tracing as far out as you think the robot could have gone. We will say we don't remember how much change we had. We will say we don't remember what direction it went in. We are underage and the law can't touch us. Not for permanent. And while you're being driven slowly through the hills, your head leaning out the window and calling your baby's name, we'll be in the hospital. And we'll be drawing with crayons, pictures of what we hope happened to your baby. Eaten by werewolves. Sucked down in quicksand. Adopted by Christians. Fired from a cannon by pirates. Anything, anything to stop the mudslides of snot that dried on its filthy little lip. Anything to stop its crying every time we poked it. We like to poke and it never learned to like it and now it's gone. The robot took it and it's gone. And we're happy. Like nothing has every made us happy. Broke and happy and ready for the hospital again. |
1. today is nice 3. happy yesterdays 8. thanks for hosting 4. doing other things |
(Proof that I am the only one reading.) |