It’s Funny You Ask...

Walking for a quart to heal my hangover

wind whistling by my fingertips

whipping angry clouds

across the sky,

I found a large clear

plastic rectangle

in the grassy mud

behind Mapco Express

on which, in black,

was the letter

“N”.

I picked it up, civic-minded:

maybe it fell off one of their signs;

I’ll be a good boy and give it back…

but I saw no gap for a missing “N”

anywhere near the various

signage of Mapco,

so I set the “N” on a low brick wall

outside the entrance

and going in, I analyzed

Kabbalistically:

“N…

In Hebrew,

NUN;

Numerical value 50

Tarot correspondence:

Death

(though not usually physical)

Lots of *that* around these days…

an appropriate Sigil, but leave it here;

you have too much junk at home…”

I got my quart, then came back out

and as I passed the low brick wall

on which I’d left the plastic “N”

the western wind lifted the “N” and spun it

unerringly edgewise into my chest

like a ninja shuriken…

I caught it on the rebound,

rubbed myself, and muttered

“Shit!”

Anyhow, that’s where this “N” comes from…