Don't Blame Me, I'm Just Here to Fix the Garbage Disposal: Part Nine
Young Man
Young man clean-shaven
dressed for biz with a
go get 'em
suit and tie,
in a dark apartment
watches TV
at noon.
Why?
Young Woman
Steamy from the shower,
hair dripping,
her actual name, Cherie,
sweetly commands:
"Don't look at me."
Short robe, bare legs,
dimpled smile, so pert,
she waltzes
in bubble wrap,
where no one
gets hurt.
Note:
Among my contracting jobs, for many years I've served as the on-call
handyman for a group of townhouse-style apartments — or rental units —
or whatever one should call an enclosed square of two-story dwellings in
a subdivision of Sunnyvale, California. It's steady money. As a minor
league writer, I need that.
I tried to summarize the experience in
prose, but verse seems to work best. Most of the events took place in
the 1980s though a few are more recent. This is Part Nine of a series.
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