So I'm gettin' outta my car just outside my beautiful new home and
this puffed-up 4"x6" piece of green plastic starts
blowing down the driveway headed for the yard. It lands a yard past
my feet and I go to pick it up and of course a wind gust lofts it
once again and deposits another three feet away- a dynamic that
repeats itself twice before I finally stomp on it and it goes "POP,"
as does my back.
I bend down anyway now that I've slain the Jabberwock and pick it
up. And all it says on it, in big. black. bold letters, is
"GREENEARTH" with "100% recycled material" in
tiny letters below it.
I'm getting too old for this. Irony stopped existing decades ago-
around the same time people's misuse of the term became ironic.
Everything is ironic these days to the point where irony can only be
found in the most sincere, mundane circumstance.
I'm taking a nap- a nice long one.
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