Monday, May 24, 2010



Our old tabby-tom, Keezie Moto,
lying long on his tartan blanket
folded neatly over
the back of the blue recliner, facing
the big living room picture window,
his thick bobbed tail twitching as
he peered through yellow cat slits
at crows and starlings frolicking in
the fat dew bubbles lacing the
verdant blades of front lawn,
seemingly supervised by one
chattering gray squirrel, just as
a brilliant rainbow kissed a corner
of the yard, produced by a rogue
Spring sun ray that had passionately
pierced the dark fast-moving cloud
cover-turning all heads for a
joyous moment.

Painting by Duvian Montoya

Two burly Hispanic landscapers who
appeared suddenly in my back yard
early this morning, sleeves rolled up,
green ball caps pulled low over their
dark eyes, carrying an armful of rakes,
shovels, scythes, and hoes, soon
piled quietly midst the moss and
clover, as their twin chainsaws roared
voraciously to life and attacked the
three small trees my wife wanted gone;
a huge white truck barely fitting across
the concrete parking strip in front of
my salmon-colored garage, with it's
thick steel tailgate down, looking like
a great metal tongue, eager to consume
dozens of the thick tree rounds and
broken branches of yesterday.

The seemingly endless rows of movies,
loaded on DVD and VHS, that greet me
daily in my home office, tucked on
oak shelves, permanent, rolling, and
free-standing, covering every available
inch of subterranean sanctuary--it's
all there surrounding me with the
complete history of cinema, over a
hundred years of it, from BIRTH OF A
NATION to AVATAR, 30,000 strong.
It would take a determined man
eight years, ten hours a day, seven
days a week just to watch all of them.
Soon I will be that man.

Glenn Buttkus May 2010

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