June 3, 2013

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    Numberings

     

    There will come a time in this world

    When its amalgamated populace is reduced by Numberings

    Inscribed at birth on the inside of the wrist of the left arm.

    Perpetual in nature,

    Impossible to alter or remove and even in the blackness of night,     

    To glow under ultra-violet in response to many sudden ratifications

    By an unknown officialdom.

     

    Race will cease to exist,

    As all new-borns’ DeoxyriboNucleic Acid or DNA

    Is unspiralled, intermingled and blended 

    By a radical process known as HUP.                                                

    A neologism for “Human Unification Process”

    Mandated by the Council of All Peoples or CAP,

    The ultimate final homonym in an attempt to delay the Extinction.

     

    As Earth’s Star struggles to penetrate the carbonized thickening opaqueness

    Enveloping the dying planet - Its forests, oceans and plains 

    Starved of vital nutrients and a bleak greyness darkening its final hours,

    The CAP determines that all HUPs beyond the age of forty

    Must be eliminated to allow for those remaining

    To breathe increasingly scarce filtered oxygen for temporal survival,

    Those most likely to continue to populate the coming age.

     

    It is not a difficult task to cull the populace

    Because all Numberings are automatically logged at birth into Vulcan

    The WSC or World Super Computer.         

    Of course, the ten SD’s (Super Directors) are exempted

    As Vulcan activates the nano-chips embedded in the Numberings.

    A fatal nano-pinch of Preludium courses its way to the brain and the stench

    Of world-wide decomposition is unbearable for months on end.

     

    So…What else is new in a world eventually bent on collective suicide?

     

     

     

    Note: Hopefully my poem is viewed as an irreverent parody... However, the seven

    monitoring stations at the top of Hawaii's Mauna Lau volcano have reported the

    highest concentration of symbolically important levels of 400 parts per million 

    for the first time in 5 million years... Rising emissions from China and India is the

    reason given for the spectacular increase... 

     

     

     

     

     

May 18, 2013

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    The Crucible  

     

    Something is wrong

    There was a time when past was present

    It isn’t that way anymore

    He doesn’t understand what is happening to him

    Why this day is not today and yesterday is tomorrow

     

    Something is wrong

    Something is playing with his mind

    Maybe it’s something he ate

    But he can’t remember what he had for breakfast this morning

    Maybe he skipped breakfast

    And the dishes in the drain-board are from last night

     

    He doesn’t know these people who just knocked on his door

    He thinks he’s seen them before but isn’t sure

    They hug and kiss him and ask how he’s doing

    How well he looks

     

    But the little babies they're holding look at him funny

    And one of them starts crying when they ask him to hold it

    It’s your fourth great-grandson they tell him

    He doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about

    And he’s afraid he might drop it and hurt it

    It’s so heavy

     

    He wishes they would all go away

    He doesn’t want them here

    They’re making too much noise

    He wants them to leave him alone

     

    Leave him alone

     

     

     

     

May 6, 2013

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                     Star Ice

     

                        He listens to the undulating ice

                        Diamonded by a solemnity of stars

                        It cleaves last summer's mackerel sea

                        It creeps through kelp-stilled glittering shoal

                        It cracks with music scratched on glacial bars

     

     

                        But for this sound no sound is heard

                        No startled bird no diesel growl - A penetrating fright

                        Crawls through ear-holes into pale veins

                        Buried just under his scalp to flick those sensors birthed

                        Within this billion-year cauldron now so white

     

     

                        It is here dimension ceases to exist

                        It is here under this pitiless gaze of celestial eyes

                        Where terror grips an anchorless flesh

                        Where ululations sound remorselessly unheard except by him

                        To lavalize the mind's malaise

     

     

                        Carefully he picks his way across the glistening ledge

                        His shattered knees barely supportive of his form

                        Perceptiveness lost to this insensate state

                        Struck dumb - Incredulous - Why is he here?

                        What has coerced and driven him to this destructive storm

     

     

                        Of carrion thought? - Of bitter and humiliating rage?

                        Bound now to harsh and unforgiving blips of light

                        With no consideration of his wants and needs

                        He is uncounted - Baffled - Lost inside this stricken dome

                        Blinded by frozen firmament that sears bituminous night

     

     

     

     

     

April 30, 2013

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    Wallabouts  

     

    The truth is that walls are not nice 

    To put it succinctly - Walls kill

    Look at what happened in Berlin

    How many lives were lost on the Red side of Checkpoint Charlie

    Before Reagan bankrupted them and it was torn down?

     

    Movies were made about that wall

    Lots of good actors starred in them

    Michael Caine and Ian Holm in spy thrillers

    John Hurt tried to fly over it with his family in a home-made balloon

    And poor Claire Bloom and Richard Burton were massacred at its base

    And "Johnboy" Thomas dug a tunnel under it to save his girl and her family

    And Werner Meyer and his wife and kids made it across

    Suspended in a bucket-crane that he controlled                                                             

    But that wasn't a movie - It really happened!

     

    In Israel they're building a wall to seperate the Palestinians and Jews

    It's supposed to keep out suicide bombers

    But it's not high enough to stop the rockets that fly over it and kill people

     

    In California, Arizona and Texas they're building a wall to keep out "illegals"

    But who is going to pick the tomatoes and lettuce and fruit?

    The growers say they'll have to plow everything under if they don't get some help

    A few of us might starve eventually - some of those "undesireables" probably will

    That's sort of long-term killing... isn't it?

     

    In 1941- the Nazis crammed over four hundred thousand Jews into Warsaw's Ghetto

    And forced them to build a 10-foot-high brick wall topped by barbed wire

    Effectively walling themselves in… By the end of 1942

    Eighty-three thousand men, women and children perished behind that wall

     

    In China centuries ago - they built a wall four thousand miles long

    It was supposed to keep out the barbarian Huns

    It didn't work even though it cost hundreds of thousands of lives to build it

    That's killing... isn't it?

     

    In Beirut they built a wall to protect our Marines but over two hundred of them died anyway

     

    In Baghdad and Kabul they've built walls around the Green Zones

    To keep out most Iraquis and Afghanis

    Even though it's part of their cities

    But they had to protect the Starbucks and McDonalds and the beauty salons

    Mortar-shells can still arch over them though

    And people get killed

     

    Since time began - walls have been built to protect people and property

    But they don't

     

    No doubt about it…

    Walls kill

             

     

     

                 

April 24, 2013

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    The Birthday Party   

     

    April 20th 1938

    It is a warm lovely evening in the South Bronx

     

    After the cops check us out in the lobby below

    We are allowed to watch from the roof of the tenement across the street

     

    The orchestra has been playing for some time

    Melodious waltzes float across to us

    Through the enormous open windows of Ebling's* Casino - An elaborate beer hall

    Each of its huge windows framed in long burgundy drapes

     

    Great chandeliers flood the immense hall with brilliant light

    We see tuxedoed waiters putting final touches on long banquet tables

    Two immense banners are hung behind the stage - Spotlights playing over them

    One is the American flag - Next to it the intertwined broken crosses of Germany

    White-circled in scarlet and black

    Dozens of smaller versions of both hang from the ceiling

    Miniatures of each are placed side-by-side in the center of each lavish table

     

    In the street below - glamorous arrivals emerge from gleaming limousines

    Distinguished men in immaculate dinner jackets - some in splendid uniforms

    Stately women in gorgeous gowns and sparkling jewels

    Tall young men wearing smart brown uniforms

    Stand on either side of the bright red carpet leading from the curb

    Blond and muscular - their arm-bands decorated with the broken crosses

    They form an avenue for the dazzling couples disembarking from their limousines

     

    Traffic has ceased on 156th Street

    The cops are everywhere - on foot and mounted on skittish horses

    Even the trolleys have stopped running on St Ann's

    More limousines wait - lined up on the steep hill above the Hall

    Hundreds of curious people stand behind the barricades on the sidewalks below

    Many are Jews from the tenements and open markets a few blocks away

    Everyone is strangely silent as each polished car pulls up

    And their resplendent occupants step out

     

    The smiling couples gather on the steps of the ornate flood-lit entrance

    Photographers' flashes memorialize the growing assembly

     

     At last the final limousine rolls up - longer than the others

    Small german flags with the broken crosses are mounted on its fenders

    The honor guard click their heels and raise their right arms in a stiff salute

    A tall man in brown uniform and glistening boots emerges and returns the gesture

    Scarlet bands with the broken crosses are wrapped around his upper arms

    A beautiful woman in a long white gown follows

    People around us whisper she is a famous opera star from Germany

    The brown-clad leader takes her arm and guides her up the steps

     

    A low muttering rises up from the barricades

    The police stiffen - The mounted officers edge their horses closer

    Rotten tomatoes and eggs fly from the crowd

    They fall short into the street - A few splatter against the limousine

    None reach the tall thin man and the blond woman in the beautiful gown

     

    The brown uniforms start toward the barricades but are called back by the leader

    The mounted police charge the crowd

    A few are knocked down but are helped up - Everyone runs down the hill

    The cops chase them across St Ann's as the first trolley rumbles past

     

    The glittering guests promenade into the great hall

    We watch from our roof-top as they search for their places

    When they are seated the waiters draw Ebling's beer in decorated steins

    From shiny taps set into the walls

    They place them in front of each male guest

    They pour champagne from bottles in ice-buckets for the women

    Finally they roll in carts piled high with heaps of steaming food

    Our mouths water

     

    The orchestra strikes up brisk oompah tunes

    Everyone sings along and clinks and drinks and laughs and eats

    A long time passes

     

    Finally the leader at the head table taps at the microphone

    The orchestra stops playing

    He stands and raises his glass and proposes a toast

    Everyone stands - holding their steins and glasses of champagne

     

    Benny Grossman and his uncle are on the roof with us

    Mr Grossman owns the candy-store on Eagle Avenue and understands German

    He says the tall thin man wishes the Great Fuhrer a happy 50th birthday

    He thanks the Fuhrer for his victory over the Reds and the Jews in the homeland

    Out shoots his arm and he bellows into the microphone "Sig Heil!"

    The people stick out their arms and yell back "Sig Heil!"

    We ask Mr Grossman what it all means but he just looks sad and doesn't answer

    Benny asks him - What's a Fuhrer?

     

    The great chandeliers are suddenly dimmed and this immense movie screen is lowered

    From the ceiling behind the orchestra as it leaves the stage

     

    We see an incredible image projected

    We see what looks like millions of people sitting in a collosal stadium

    High above them this gigantic symbol of the broken crosses

    Sits atop a long circular row of tall columns lit by powerful lights

    We see what looks like millions of soldiers lined up in perfect formation

    They stand absolutely still as powerful searchlights play over them

    Everyone is very quiet like they're getting ready for something to happen

     

    The screen is suddenly filled with Hitler's image!

    He wears the same uniform as the soldiers far below him

    The people at the tables in the great hall stand up and cheer and clap

    The leader growls into the microphone and they shut up

     

    Hitler starts to speak -

    Softly - Slowly - Hypnotically at first

    As he goes on - his voice gets louder and louder

    Until he is screaming and making strange weird crazy faces

    He waves his arms wildly and lifts his hands to heaven like the priest in our church

    The hordes in the stadium and the hundreds in the hall

    Set up such a deafening roar 

    That it scares the hell out of Benny and me

     

    Benny's uncle tells us Hitler says the German people won't take it any more!

    Hitler screams that Germany is now the most powerful nation in the world!

    He screams they have rid themselves of the Red cancer in their midst!

    He screams German workers won't be starved again by Jewish bankers!

    He screams Germany will take back what was taken from them in the last war!

    He screams that Germany might take back a lot more!

    He screams that the German people will again be masters of their fate!

    He screams Germany's 'New Order' will live for a thousand years!

     

    When he is finished - a fat man in uniform with lots of medals stands up

    Out shoots his arm - "Sig Heil" he yells!

    The people in the great stadium thunder back 'Sig Heil!"

    The crowd in the dimly-lit hall burst out "Sig Heil!"

    Twice more he yells "Sig Heil"

    Twice more everyone explodes "Sig Heil!"

     

    Mr Grossman says in Yiddish "My poor people"

    Benny whispers to me in English what he says

    We both don't understand

    "What poor people?" Benny says to him "Everybody's poor in the South Bronx!"

     

    Mr Grossman smiles and says "It’s pretty late...

    Tomorrow is for school and we should go home now

    To our mommas and our pappas and our nice warm beds”

     

     

     

    *In April of 1945 in the hills of Northern Luzon, we received our monthly ration of beer. It was

     a case of warm Ebling’s  - The brewery was only three blocks from our apartment in the Bronx.

     The rent was forty dollars a month because my mother cleaned and polished the halls and stairs

     of four floor units three times a week for the balance…

     

     Ebling’s was destroyed by the junkies in the early ‘60s for its copper brewing kettles and

     everything else they could cart off… Only a few short blocks away a little girl, the newest

     member of the Supreme Court of the United States was growing up…

     

     

     

     

April 10, 2013

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    Dark Lady of the Wood  

     

    The wood is purpled with an obdurate fog

    Through which a happier light cannot break through

    And on this lichened slab of ledge

    Where he has paused to rest; she finds him

    And wraps him up within her verdant shawl

     

    She croons and cradles him to her moss-scented breast

    Wild quince beribboning her ebony hair

    His eyes now weighted by her soft slow song

    He slips away from his immediate self

    Into a feathery world of disencumbered dream

     

    It’s been so long he’s waited for her to emerge

    Out of the inky green and interwoven brackens of his mind

    A vagabond once lost along slow subtle trails

    He is at peace at last; asleep on this pavilion of beyond

    Abstract quiescent self; unrecognizable as he

     

    Her lips so soft and faintly tasting now of salt

    She breathes a soul-enveloping mist into his mouth

    She drugs him; drags him deeper into her embrace

    And he submits lost to a simpler more pacific place

    Happier now than he has ever been

     

    Dark lady of the wood; soft lady of the moss

    Float him insentient to bride-chambered earth

    Don’t let him ache; don’t let him hurt

    He loves you more than you can ever know

    In reaching now for your alluvial grace

     

    But you reject him still; it’s not yet time

    Wake him; he still has a few more trails to roam

    But soon he’ll lie again within arboreal shrine

    And then you’ll kiss eyes shut in brilliant sleep

    And fly with him to paradise

     

     

     

     

     

April 2, 2013

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    Annie Millicent  

     

    He will resurrect her

    He will bring her back from where her soul reposes

    She will be reborn one of these nights through his will

    She will be reborn one of these nights through his words

    She will tell him what it is like to lie in this lonely place

    Interred within this unsympathetic necropolis

    For more than a hundred years

     

    "Is her's the only Roman marker

    Preserved among so many Lutheran stones?"

     

    She will float up out of the icy ground

    She will appear to him as he imagines himself beside her

    She will whisper to him about herself one of these nights in a dream

    She will curl up in his arms and never be afraid again

    She will know he'll understand because he is the father of daughters

    She will burrow inside his anorak and be warm again

    Shielded from the shivering arctic winds

    Moaning through the scattered monuments

     

    "Was she a bright lovely child or a spoiled difficult little girl?

    And does it really matter?"

     

    She will tell him about her friends and the happy games they played

    High above this fledgling town - Up here on the Pyynikki Ridge

    Sliding down its white hills on the sparkling winter snow

    Running up its green hills on summer afternoons

    As their nannies gossiped about their mothers' minor sins

     

    "Even then - She was always within sight of her eventual grave

    With the loom of the Aleksanterin Cathedral hovering"

     

    Yes - She will tell him about herself

    She will whisper to him about her mother - How beautiful she was

    And how much her mother truly loved her

    And that she forgives her mother for what happened

    And she will speak to him about her father one of these nights in a dream

    How handsome and kind and clever he was

    And how much he truly loved her

     

    "But why did they leave her to rot in this lonely place?

    Why didn't they take her home to Hampshire with them"

      

    She will tell him about the men in frock coats and stove-pipe hats

    Who came to talk with her father in their gracious dining room

    And smoked cigars and sipped brandy beneath the grand chandeliers

    As they unrolled long sheets of ivory parchment on the great table

    And spent long hours discussing them and marking them with quill and ink

    While their maid served coffee and Karelian pies

    Was her father the High Manager at the new mill

    Or the Chief Engineer come before she was born

    To harness the rapids roiling between the lakes?

     

             "In Affectionate Remembrance of

                       ANNIE MILLICENT

                            Daughter of

                 Henry and Betsy Horrocks

                   Who Departed This Life

                       February 10, 1879

                          Aged 7 years

         'Of Such is the Kingdom of Heaven' ''

     

    Will she tell him how she died?

    Perhaps she was knocked down by a run-away horse

    Pulling a sleigh beside the Mariankatu?

    Perhaps her mother averted her gaze for a few moments

    As she played with her friends in this little park

    And the crazed animal stomped her into the snow turned red with her blood

    At this very spot where she lies in the frozen earth

    Because her father wished it so

     

    Will she tell him how the grave-diggers built a great fire to thaw the ground

    And that her parents left for England and home that same bitterly cold day

    After they lowered her broken body into the ground?

    Of course - She won't tell him of her father's magical vision

    He sees it for himself each evening from his daughter's house

    Up here on the Pyynikki Ridge*

    As the city below glitters and gleams with its myriad lights

    He accepts better than most - Those crinkled parchment sheets

    Transformed into the proletariat poet's urban paradise

     

    "From the country-side they came - Not just from the North

    But also from the West, from the East and from the South

    From all parts came a constant stream of new human material

    Those tough fixtures of the land who with a dream in their hearts

    Finally decided to take charge of their fortunes -

    This is how they came - Those who built this town for us!"

      

     Lauri Viita - (Moreeni - 1950) - Tampere Finland

     

    *Our youngest daughter married an exchange student from Tampere and has lived there

     for many years.                                            Lauri Viita is the poet-laureate of Finland.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

March 25, 2013

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    Phoebe Starling    

     

    Last - When have you seen the osprey spiral-spin for fish

    Far above Monhegan's cliffs

    The honeyed field of marsh below the stones of Cemetery Hill

    The cathedral of the pine with its mechanical ants

    The hands of Phoebe Starling?

     

    Last - When have you seen the streaking shag

    The sunning seal ledged to the running sea

    And tumult in the northern night

    The beached and broken bits of glass

    The eyes of Phoebe Starling?

     

    Last - When have you heard the gulls scream for discarded scran

    Fog-blinded sheep bleat at the cadenced horn

    The lyric of a buoy's bell song

    The island wren lilt through moss rose

    The voice of Phoebe Starling?

     

    Last - When have you touched the bending widow-wail

    The moss at night

    The fragile synapta within the sand

    The willowed maiden-hair

    The hair of Phoebe Starling?

     

    Last - When have you kissed the golden image in an oil-lit church

    The hands of your forgotten mother

    The cheek of some forgotten child

    The fingertips of some forgotten love

    The lips of Phoebe Starling?

     

    Last - When have you loved within the hazes of the night

    Loved within the stark stark day

    Loved within the pulsing of the living island land

    Touching the wisp of spider-spun and

    Watching the berry tree ripen and

    Listening to the throbbing sea and

    Bending to kiss the granite graved with

     

          "Here Lies Phebe* Starling

                    Aged 1 Mo.

             Died March 4 - 1784"

     

     

     

     

    Note:

    Phoebe was the first white human being buried on Monhegan,

    an island some twenty miles off the coast of Maine. Her name

    is so endearing. Also there are indications Vikings visited the

    island centuries before Columbus.                                  *stet

     

     

            

                                                                                                                                                                                                            

     

     

March 22, 2013

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    Ellie  

     

    He was just twenty in late '45 when he was discharged from the army

    He got a job in a bakery cleaning up the mess left in the machines and ovens

    After the bakers were done for the day

    The owner's wife then had him gather up the broken loaves and pastries

    He delivered them to a settlement house run by Franciscans on the lower east side

    Often he stayed and ate and helped the brothers serve a simple meal

    To the drunks and prostitutes and junkies that roamed the neighborhood streets

     

    One evening a young hooker came in with a couple of experienced pros

    The older women left because they didn't like yesterday's warmed-over stew

    He sat with her while she ate and then they went to a bar

    He bought her a drink and he had a beer

    She told him her name was Eleanor but he could call her Ellie

    She said she was eighteen but he knew she was younger

    She asked him - Didn't he think she looked like a young Betty Grable?

    He told her he thought she was very pretty

    She said she was from Baltimore

    She told him she was trying to save enough to go to Hollywood and be a star

    She asked him if he had money to be with her later but he said no

    (He'd seen enough syph movies in the service but he didn't tell her that)

    She shrugged and started to light a cigarette when she suddenly fell to the floor

    Shaking violently as the seizures consumed her

    The black bartender whose name was Leon came around

    And shoved a dirty bar-towel into her mouth

    After a few minutes she stopped shaking and passed out

    Her tight skirt was stained where she wet herself - A puddle formed on the floor

    Leon helped him carry her to a booth in the back

    He said she'd probably come around in a while but wouldn't be much of a lay

    He said he could fix him up with someone else - but he said no

     

    He sat holding her hand until she finally opened her eyes

    She told him she lived around the corner

    Could he please help her up the stairs

    She didn't think she could climb those five flights on her own

    If he liked he could stay the night - It wouldn't cost him anything

    She had some wine and a couple of bottles of beer

    He was welcome to it all - She said she couldn't drink any more

    Because she said it would make her sick again

     

    When they got to her place she said she would like to take a bath

    She wouldn't be long and in the mean-time he could help himself to a beer

    A few minutes later he heard a loud crash and glass breaking

    He found her sprawled naked over the edge of the tub

    Her head was in the water and her hand was cut by a shattered water glass

    He jammed a wet wash-cloth into her mouth like he saw Leon do

    He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom

    He bandaged her hand as tightly as he could and dried her hair

    When she stopped shaking he stretched her out on her bed and covered her up

     

    He lay next to her all night with this sick feeling in his stomach

    He looked at her for the longest time before he fell asleep

    He thought wild feverish thoughts about how he would take care of her

    He would get a good job and make a lot of money and they would get married

    He would find a doctor who would cure her

    They would have lots of kids and live together and always be happy

     

    When she woke up next morning

    She thanked him and apologized for having two fits in a row like that

    She said it was the first time that ever happened

    He told her it was okay - she couldn't help being sick and if she didn't mind

    He had to leave to go to work but he would come back after he finished

     

    Instead he quit his job and went back to his room and packed his things

    And got on the subway to the Bronx

     

     

     

     

     

     

March 20, 2013

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    The Model   

     

    This evening together on the waterbed it wasn't anything

    Like he imagined - This coarseness, this unexpected vulgarity

    A clockworks complication

    Yet prelude to the sensual vineyard he'd hoped it would be

     

    Dressed in flowers screened on cambric she herself had spun

    She preened before the fly-blown glass

    Then settled on the redolent slosh beside him

    And shed the brilliant shift

     

    She wasn't pretty - This solid scandinavian

    Her skin a mottled marble - She was layered and full-buttocked

    God how he wished her long-legged

    With gentle spaces between ribs he could stroke with his nose

     

    Yet here she was smiling in the half-light

    All lumps and inelegant hillocks

    She seemed to him crass fatuous inane

    A slightly screwy curl of lip an invitation for him to begin

     

    All summer he told himself he really sort of wanted her

    She had such beautiful eyes and long bright hair

    The palest natural blond polished still brighter by the island sun

    It really became her

     

    He watched for weeks as she worked at the fragile wheel

    Flacid fingers feeding flax - Remarkable in their dexterity

    The straw-colored floss matched her lovely braids

    It had set him off and he loved her for it

     

    Spinning though just passed the time - She was there to pose

    Draped across a chaise - The flowing folds of fat gave us fits to draw

    Unlike her friend whose angry angularity was slashed out quickly

    Almost without looking - She rippled as she undulated to the bell

     

    All summer he sort of wanted her but she was taken - Now her friend

    That dark acrimonious broad was gone - All ribs - Long legs

    All bones and sharp corners - She left this morning with the others

    And so tonight summer would be over for them both