After a long conversation late last night with both Hil and Matt from Berthaís house, with Bertha laughing and her dog yelping in the background, that included a long string of how great this is and how much fun that was, I asked, ìSo Matt, tell me exactly what incentive do you have to come home?

ìNone,î he replied, and then launched into, ìDad, we got to meet the president of Nicaragua in his building, and when the security guard asked for identification, Bertha just laughed at him and kept walking, and we were the only ones there, and Hilís vomiting was Hilarious, and weíre having pizza tonight and they have the only yard weíve seen so far, and … .î

Weíll all be at the airport Friday night. Will they?

And Day Brought Back My Night

It was so simple: you came back to me
and I was happy. Nothing seemed to matter
but that. That you had gone away from me
and lived for days with him– it didnít matter.
That I had been left to care for our old dog
and house alone–couldnít have mattered less!
On all this, you and I and our happy dog
agreed. We slept. The world was worriless.

I woke in the morning, brimming with old joys
till the fact-checker showed up, late, for work
and started in: Item: itís years, not days.
Item: you had no dog. Item: she isnít back,
in fact, she just remarried. And oh yes, item: you
left her, remember? I did? I did. (I do.)

Geoffrey Brock

Chrisís parents took us to see The Finn Brothers (formerly Crowded House), Martin Sexton, and Angela McCluskey last Saturday night. There was an attractive couple in front of us who danced next to their chairs, but were prevented from using the wide open spaces next to us by the ever present security guards. Absurd.
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