There She Is

July 12, 2007

There she is, Summer, painting her nails and drying her underthings on the line, two million stunned somnambulists on her dirty sidewalks drinking lager and lemon, tattooed boys rubbernecking and flexing their pipes wringing every minute out of the day, coffee sippers switching to iced sodas and caffeine slushes with long straws drawn to sunred mouths, flipflop sting of sweaty sandal everywhere especially on the benches dirty soles and white cuticles the moon riseth late if at all, ice cream dangling down chins tiger tiger for her and rum raisin for him – something in a cup for the younger version sunglass-hat stained t-shirt, obnoxious two-wheelers prancing down the ave their roar bouncing from concrete walls and glass storefronts we do not need their noise, nuclear sun unconcerned with the dally of us – our minutia our complaints our spare change, overturned shopping carts in the alley looking for someone to take them up, the hot dog roaster pawing the blue night waiting for the mustard dobbers and their cousins the relish defamers, overblown straight six t-birds flying in from Venera horsepower doesn’t matter to them only the oil and the drink, music blasting from bass reflex enclosures the head units 4 volts to the amp — capacitance, the skinny neuters carrying half sacks and bags of cheetos where are you going with those too-aware sunglasses and clever teeshirts I ask, how about some change for some traveling kids?? how about not you little cocksuckers shove off you don’t deserve this piece of pavement, humble miss in the linen outfit and slightly askew red hair she is genuine I says with my pocket fumble, 7-11 hustlers and phone waiters looking for the next excuse, the hardpin swingers gnawing at the velvet rope and ten dollar cover, nobody breaks up in the summer it never falls apart like that – not when the sun burns your neck red and peeling, two million living bags of blood and meat just wanting to dank with impunity, there she is, summer, flicking toenails and sniping from the shade

Vignette #211

5 reader comments (closed)

1

justme

??????

Jul 12, 2007 • 11:57

2

Handel

Interesting. Indulgent. Obscure. Likely better spoken.

Jul 12, 2007 • 13:06

3

Gravel

@Handel: Agreed. This was written to be spoken. Not sure it really works as a written work. Oh well. If a guy can’t fuck around on his own website what’s the use of having one, right?

Jul 12, 2007 • 16:18

4

ink slinger

This is definitely one to be listened to. Maybe it’ll make an appearance as a podcast when you’ve got that going?

Jul 12, 2007 • 22:59

5

Gravel

@ink: Possibly. I can’t wait to fire the podcast up, actually. Once the wedding is done and I’m settled in my new digs, it’ll take off. Looking forward to it.

Jul 12, 2007 • 23:05

Goal posts, Donnan School yard

Goal posts, Donnan School yard

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About

StreetRag is an urban weblog and podcast about the city of Edmonton, which is located in the province of Alberta, Canada. It is authored by Edmonton-based writer, web advocate, and poet Michael Gravel and is updated frequently with written urban vignettes, amateurish photographs, deuteronomous audio material, barely coherent musings and rambling ecumenical treatises. StreetRag is a love letter to a lonely prairie burg struggling with its big city ambitions and small-town feel.

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The city is Edmonton. It's a subject, not a passion. E-Town is almost universally derided by outsiders as an unlivable tundra wasteland populated by oil-hungry redneck conservatives who despise the arts. All of that is true. But it's not the whole story. There is beauty here. Dusty snowfalls. Brilliant summers. A stunning river valley. A diverse arts community that flourishes. It's a place that inspires a gray relationship - not all good, not all shitty. For that reason alone it is lovable, for what is life but a grayscale?

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