Thursday, August 30, 2007

John Doe

Last night the neighborhood watch reported a raggedy, sandy-haired hobo.
His willowy silhouette passed over lawns and through front and back yards,
in and out of lamplight, under a clear half moon.

That was a Saturday in August, when I slept soundly, windows open, miles upstream from the city of sprinklers. That was when I dreamt and forgot anonymous dreams.

On Sunday morning a keeper of public works arrived with his mower and rakes to the scene: the fresh wreck of a deer, little gore and no horns, flung up on the clean grass between tennis courts and boulevard, in the sun.

2 comments:

ash said...

Very nice. Is the hobo the deer? Or is the deer that died separate from the hobo but included as a play on the title "John Doe"?

eped said...

I don't exactly know. there's an investigation underway but nobody will tell me anything.