Tuesday, June 16, 2015

#Bloomsday My Style

Shrimpy, plump Becky Birdie stumbled into her infinitesimal bathroom, bearing a chalice on which an emory board and a toothbrush lay crossed. A terrycloth robe, unbelted, clung to her legs in the humid June air. She held the chalice aloft and intoned:

Spirit of Life, come to me, come to me.

Halted, she peered out her one narrow window into that of the neighbor across from her and called out sweetly:

--Come over, Ralph Waldo the XXIInd! Come over, you fearless Unitarian.

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