You read a story about the two elderly men who snuck out of their nursing home to attend a heavy metal festival. You never get to find out which band— an ad interrupts, of course: Aviation Mechanic Training. Or free real estate advice. That's the way of the world: it puts two silk cords in your hands and fills the ends with rocks of different sizes and shapes. You're supposed to spin them with the lightest of wrist movements so they draw helixes in the air; wide, lapping circles around you. All in the footwork. When you get good at this, promises the instructor, you could graduate to fire. Which could be a goal, perhaps because everyone who looks at you only thinks cardigan, not spandex. Or drogue parachute, if parachute at all.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.