Sunday

I wrote: I want to write about the predicate of this sentence. And tried to believe that the sentence had nothing to do. Subtle falling on the lawn where the croquet hoop was set too loose. Can’t get through. Why I wrote. at all. I crossed it out but I turned back and pushed both ends solid in the grass. What futility in Sick of it what futility Sick futility Sunday afternoons Sick of whatever lying, lying in my way, the way I can’t get through with the game. The game, picking my acne, inane pushing fingers through my hair. I would save myself. Thack! the wooden mallet would then hit the ball rolling fast rolling on the grass and toward the hoop of creative proliferation, approach the hoop, reach the threshold reach the hoop of creativity, the hoop, the hoop and Tang! The arched wire croquet hoop is knocked loose laying in the grass. “That’s it!” throwing down the mallet, he stepped heavily over the flattened hoop. “I quit,” he said, and slammed the gate behind him.

December 1971