Justin Stone's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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Location: missouri, el paso

The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

He's got his shoulders hunched, his lips pursed.
His eyes swim behind the thick blur of his eyeglasses.
He prays to God to make him cool.

The middle school band plays a dolorous version of This Old Man.
A many armed thing, slow, out of tune, a living thing.
Ms. Jenkins moves to the classrom door, shuts it tight.
"A person can't hardly hear themselves think," she says.
But he kind of liked it.
He really liked it.
And he can still just barely hear the song down the hallway.
If anyone were to ask him he'd say, "It makes me forget things."

With a knick-knack paddywhack, give a dog a bone
This old man came rolling home.