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The seagull and I
"Tuna is always nice, but if I never have to taste another drop of Miracle Whip, I'll be thrilled."
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pairs of lotioned limbs grow tan on white deck chairs sometimes a page turns a hibiscus bud skips across the chalky deck prodded by a breeze crows drop crusts of bread into the blue pool, a few sink to nevermore styrofoam noodles the color of crayons float in bright water the black and white cat crouches, lapping water slyly then feigns indifference a ring of house keys a pair of yellow flip flops lie in striped shade her gaze enjoins the umbrella’s taut shadow of whom does that girl dream?
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Wherever you go in Florida , you’ll cross paths with an anole. Especially taken with the little lizards are newly transplanted homeowners, thrilled by the prospect of spending balmy, exotic lives where palm trees drop coconuts on cars, and the little reptiles perch on rocks, translucent crimson dewlaps flashing territorially in the endless summer. They eat ants and crickets and can be kept as pets… but why bother? They’re just as much fun peering at you through your kitchen window or hanging from a fern on the porch. Perhaps because of the housing boom, a rather lot of the little beasts are suicidal, running directly under your feet as you pass. Hopping from one foot to the other to avoid them does no good. They have an uncanny knack for finding the Shoe Of Doom. Suicide by bicycle is also a trend. One day, halfway to the beach on my motorcycle, I looked down and saw one perched on the handlebar, face to the wind, like a dog in a pickup, master of all it surveyed. I was enjoying its ...
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