... ..comatose ....January 21, 2006   The traffic light is red.  I stop and remove my glasses.  Black splatters move about the Taco Bell parking lot like bacteria in a petri dish.  With glasses back on, I see grackles picking at the carcass of a Burrito Supreme.  The birds lack enthusiasm. Fatigue has overtaken this blue-collar town where I raised and lowered a family.  The area is a patchwork of oozing sores, crusted wounds, and fresh scars.  True, the town was never considered pretty except by those who think that way about their children.  But now it is battered and mangy, like an old gamecock. The light turns green and, though I know I'm driving, I feel pulled by the office.  I am a metal filing, a brittle splinter, and I move by virtue of my composition.  I am passive, my will in a coma. I am at work now, but I don't remember the journey.  Tomorrow I will not recall that I did not remember.  And it will happen again and again until I waken. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..1st quarter index..|..next

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