Timmy Ran Down the Junction with Tulips for Arms
Timmy wasn’t Dutch or any known mixture of cultures or race. He was pure American mutt. No surviving traditions or folklore to pass down to anyone who’d listen. He wasn’t even really sure what the deal was with Vandalia onions or windmills.
He just always met up with me in the middle of the junction, holding Edgar Allen Poe era candles and two Van Goghesque ears in the pockets of his denim cut-offs.
Timmy and I would sit, Indian style, and count the stars from brightest to doomed. I added to the candles and ears with Absinthe and ignited sugar.
He just always met up with me in the middle of the junction, holding Edgar Allen Poe era candles and two Van Goghesque ears in the pockets of his denim cut-offs.
Timmy and I would sit, Indian style, and count the stars from brightest to doomed. I added to the candles and ears with Absinthe and ignited sugar.
posted by Neil Kelly at 12:35 AM
2 Comments:
Good stuff...it made me think of a Timmy that my brother played with as a kid.
"and count the stars from brightest to doomed."
Fantastic line.
One thing, and maybe you meant it, but the onions are called Vidalia, named after a city in Georgia. I looked up Vandalia, and it's the name of some Midwestern cities.
So, maybe you meant it how you have it.
I have to admit to a weakeness for writing about railroad tracks. During my adolescence I spent a lot of hours wandering around the tracks out on Quince Road, near Crumstown. So I could picture this scene very clearly.
I love how you start out in the first stanza (paragraph?) talking about how he has no traditions, no folklore, and by the end your describing this sort of weird ritual.
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