A BUNCH OF CASH LANDED MY WAY
I don’t know where it came from, that big pile of green, but I think before it disappears, I'll visit my friends that are making large sculptures of private parts and buy them for exorbitant prices. I’ll say, “I’ll offer you ten large for that granite hinder.” I always wanted to say large. I’ll truck these stone atrocities at 2am to places like Bank of America and park them in their front lawns. In the morning, I'll put on boots, a flannel shirt, make hot chocolate and sit in my Adirondack chair on the sidewalk, watching the bank manager and the officers and all the townspeople eeew over the sculpture. If asked my opinion, I'll respond behind dark glasses with, "Lilacs bloom in March don't they?"
Elephants In Our Bedroom