She texted me because she knew I walked my dog in Rannifer Square.
The cops shot a man with a sword. They said he was shouting incoherently.
I walked Yertle into the woods, thinking about the man with the sword.
They said he didn’t hurt anyone, but wouldn’t drop the weapon.
I wondered about the men who shoot up places and get taken into custody unharmed, corpses in trucks nearby.
I wondered what incoherent meant.
Who decides what’s incoherent?
Maybe the guy with the sword was quoting his favorite band, a band the cops never heard.
Maybe the guy was reciting his own poetry, about all the injustice in the world.
I’ve known neurosurgeons who don’t understand the infield fly rule and choreographers who can’t figure a 20% tip without a calculator.
I turned and walked Yertle out of the woods, down the street and over to Rannifer Square.
There was a reporter leaning against a TV van and she looked bored.
The body was taken away.
There were yellow plastic barriers around where the man had been shot.
They call those plastic barriers caution tape, though they don’t have any adhesive.
That’s incoherent.
There was blood at the base of the Teddy Roosevelt statue, and that, to me, made the most sense of all.
Yertle took a shit next to some thorn bushes.
Who decides to plant thorn bushes in a public square?
I cleaned up Yertle’s shit, but no one seemed in any hurry to clean up the blood.
***
You say so much in so very few words! This is powerful, and your prose is most poetic in places.
<< I’ve known neurosurgeons who don’t understand the infield fly rule and choreographers who can’t figure a 20% tip without a calculator. >>
I've heard about an international master (chess) who couldn't balance a checkbook, also!
<< I cleaned up Yertle’s shit, but no one seemed in any hurry to clean up the blood. >>
What a powerful last sentence! Bravo!
Outstanding writing