He’s sitting in the sycamore tree wondering when he might be free. He’s cataloging the days of the week, not even trying to figure out which one is in effect at the moment. It’s enough to try to remember them. He gets them all, if out of order. Whew. With that done, he looks down. Does he have to climb or can he jump? At his back is another tree. Turning to see it is out of the question. The last time he tried he pinched a nerve in his neck. But back there, at approximately the same altitude, is the last woman who loved him. If he does come down, slow along branches and trunk or fast through the air, will she come down too? Or will he be on the ground, scratched or bruised, looking up at what is still out of reach? A bug of some kind moves patiently across the desert of his hand.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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