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No Point Innot sure how much longerthe toilet handle will hold out. We give Harriet a key to the house and she fights the lock that for weeks after her visit our own keys barely work. To reach a cupboard she balances on the faucet neck so that now it squirts at the fixture. The toilet lever half hanging off today, linkage inside ajar, a continual hiss & gurgling coming from that end of the house. No point in fixing it until she's gone. The phone fell off the wall yesterday, apparently a faulty hook on the cradle. How she managed to solidly jam the two hinged folding windows into a welded dovetail wedge like the antlers of doomed elk bucks is an architectural mystery and even the louver blinds were stuck cross-wise slats askew as she wrestled fiercely with the cranks hollering for me to come join the battle. I had to bring the car jack and spread the window case to free the anxiety. The house soon reduced to smoking rubble of an expired Rube Goldberg Device the trigger of a cat's tail tied to a toilet plunger balancing the see-saw fulcrum trombone hamster treadmill gears dropping the black anvil on my head. |
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Issue #6, January, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.