Skip to main content

Handsome

I’ve been perpetually annoyed by the lack of sidewalks by the Northgate Executive Centers.  There is no place to walk except through the parking lot.  I’m not even really sure what an Executive Center is, except that it makes me think of men in crisp shirts with ties so tight, they are like sateen nooses; and women in power suits and heels, their hair coiffed into something so stiff, it's more helmet than hair.

But that's another story entirely.  The point is (if I have one) that my doctor’s office is at the end of this cul-de-sac.  Today as I was mentally grumbling about the lack of sidewalks, I happened upon this:



For a moment I thought it was a prosthetic, then I saw the post.  It’s a mannequin hand!   

The Executive Center snuggles up to one of the oldest malls in North America: Northgate (or Orthgat as the sign read at one point) Mall.  This mall has struggled about as much as any, but not spectacularly.  That was anyway, until the announcement of the Transit Center/Hockey Rink make-over.  At that point, JC Penney decided to get out of Dodge/Orthgat.  I’m guessing that’s where the hand came from, since JCP was selling everything.  And I really mean everything.  Empty racks had ”for sale” signs posted on them. 

So maybe someone bought a mannequin and they had a fight dropped the hand on accident, or maybe on purpose in the Executive Center parking lot.  Maybe there's a one-handed mannequin somewhere in that office building being forced into menial labor.  Or maybe it was carried to the condos behind the doctors’ office . . . or in the doctors’ office.

Either way, I’m no longer complaining about the lack of sidewalks.  Where else am I going to see this kind of visual poetry?


Popular posts from this blog

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Perfect Quote(s) for Valentine's Day

"Lovers in the first stages of attraction speak in harmonic dissonance-echoing and remarking on things that make no sense to anyone but their intended." -George Hagen, Tom Bedlam ********************************************************** Evira: "Yup, the lyrics really are 'Your sex is on fire.'" Agnes: "If my sex was on fire, I would hope that you would call 911." 

Poem: Calling

I keep sifting sand through my fingers, not feeling the grit of you in my palms. Did you skip out to sea like a stone, each kiss of the water a nix pulling you under, or are you always stretching out beside me, your shadow lapping against mine? The tide nestles up close to the shore, its corners tucked and turned under, in the shush and pulse of the waves, your voice is calling, me   to   you. __________________ We took our first trip of the Spring to Carkeek Park yesterday.  Even though it was cloudy, it was still overwhelmingly pretty. One of my favorite poets always starts each of his books with a poem written to the reader.  I guess that's my hope, too.  That you (yes, YOU) will feel that I've been reading your diary and wrote this poem to spill your secrets.  Or maybe you really are the "you" in my poem. Meanwhile, in prose land, I have just posted the next chapter of The Culling, and it involves . . . an octopus...