LETTER SEVENTEEN

 

Tuesday 22 March 2016
Home, Toronto

Dear Henry,

You mention... summer plans? Ah yes. The summer. In the spirit of this fleeting season that is always more of a waking dream than a reality, allow me to participate in my annual tradition of making plans that will never be kept.

You know, I can lease a car for $450, taxes included? Jesús McMurphy! Henry my Darling, have you any idea the face-palm my forehead incurred at this realization? All these years, trying to drag myself up by my bootstraps, to flee the proverbial nest, to take shelter in my own high rise promontory in some urban utopia… and failing due to a combination of financial incompetence, youthful bungling, and a precipitously swelling housing bubble… when I could have been living in a car!

To think, that for years now when I’ve been travelling one kilometre, sometimes two, three, four, even five kilometres to buy groceries merely to avoid chance encounters with neighbours and to achieve some semblance of anonymity, when I could’ve bought groceries at the store only five minutes from home, thereby taking on ridiculous amounts of unnecessary work –– When what I should’ve been doing, was living in a car! (Dear America: 5 kilometres = lots of miles.)

To think, the complaints, the brewing stewing heap of acrimonious sludge I daily expurgated into the world, could’ve have all been wiped under the rug –– not the rug! thou foul token of domestic comfort! Swept under the muddy floor mat near the gas pedal is more like it –– Had I only been living in a car.

Oh Henry.

Yours dearest,

 

Salient Sally sallies forth
to sing the songs of Mabel.

Humourous Hub-er-is hangs
the pope from thence upon
the gable.

Hence rides Henry hand
in hand with hounds
the size of fables.

Humourous Hub-er-ous
hangs the rope from
thence upon the stable.