Tuesday, March 08, 2011

Thumbs are best used for twiddling

He couldn't own, but
he could control, at least
his brutish strength could, or
could it? Fear played dirty
tricks on them both, both
propping up and thumbing
down. He thumbed. For years
he thumbed, but the propping
came to feel too much
like propping – empty. When
the thumb slipped, and slip
it did, it couldn't do
anything but slip. But
did it, or did the thumbed
throw it off? He had
become not so much
flabby as tired – tired
but hopeful – hopeful
the thumb on him could
also slip. Couldn't it slip,
what with the wear of years,
and his own undercut?
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