Thursday, February 03, 2005
TWO DAYS LATE
While in my angry 20's (ie; pre-yoga) Bukowski stage, I wrote this pome about the father's second wife....whose birthday was Monday*:
and Red nails
That bitch read my mail and threw it out.
*Which reminds me; my dad would have been 75 today...something I forgot until I was in the midst of devouring a cholesterol-laden Swedish repast at Svea II this afternoon. I slathered my limpa** toast with an extra pat of butter in his memory.
**traditional Swedish rye bread made with fennel seeds.