Rain rain

Don’t go away! It’s a cool day, the kind of day where you look out the window and say Man, I grow some fine lettuce. Look at those frilly leaves wringing water out of the dishrag sky! That’s what I’d say on a bad day, just cuz, but this is not that. Out with the dishrag, out with the woolly bag! It’s too much. Sag sag sag, look, the lag bolt has let go. The deck now tilts in this direction. The lettuce points it out as if it all comes down to me. Post-lunch onion breath fogs the window, a slow death in this humidity. Don’t overdose on chives while the garlic cures, I tell no one in particular for no particular reason. Of course no one listens. No one ever does. I used to recite that e e cummings poem, you know the one, but I don’t remember it anymore, not that it has anything to do with onions or garlic. It’s more the breath thing perhaps, but who knows. It's anyone's guess. From an easel in the entrance hang two varieties of hardneck. They’ll be there for weeks, bundled and suspended, swaying in the breeze. The smell makes me hungry. Yesterday I sampled the one called Music. Once free of its wrapper, the clove dripped. I’m not sure what I heard, but it was something.