On a warm day in the summer of '79 a skinny 14 year old boy sits in a folding chair on a Wisconsin beach. A small pebble hits his shoulder. A few minutes later comes another, and another. The pebbles become larger, become rocks. They hit arms, legs, back, head.
Boys and girls giggle behind him. Stubbornly, he refuses to face them. Every child knows that the victor never caves. The tears are felt, but they don't arrive.
Cocktail dress, wedding gown, handkerchief, dishrag--whatever you need me to be.
And the ulceretic grinding, rope severing foal neck--the prescription will dull the dust stirring spectacle, extending the capacity to love till death.
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