Saturday, February 27, 2021

Prose Poem: Valid Information.

 



There was a man in our town

who gave away golf balls.

He always wore a gray fedora 

and a white shirt 

with a bright floral bowtie.

His name was Mr. Peters.

He owned the hardware store.

I think he gave away the golf balls

because, in reality, 

he didn't want to own a hardware store

but a sports shop.


When he grew old and blind

he lost the hardware store

and had to move in with 

a daughter who went bowling

every night, leaving him alone.

He got disoriented one night

and wandered onto the highway,

offering golf balls to passing semis.

One of 'em ran him over.

There wasn't much left of him,

so he was buried in a golf bag.

Everyone agreed it seemed appropriate.


But before the accident,

before he went blind and

lost the hardware store,

Mr. Peters told me an interesting tale.


It seems as a young man he 

hunted jaguars in Brazil.

He put jaguar bait on 

strips of duct tape,

and when the jaguars 

took the bait they got

entangled in the duct tape

and collapsed from nervous

exhaustion.

Then he sold the jaguars 

to Indian maharajahs 

and Hollywood starlets.

The interesting part,

according to Mr. Peters,

was that there are no jaguars

in Brazil.

When I asked him why he would

tell such a nonsensical story 

in the first place he replied:

"I give away golf balls, 

not valid information."

He may have meant something 

by that,

but I prefer to think

he just liked to hear himself

talk.



No comments:

Post a Comment