Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
The Fool's Duty
Of course he wore a bright green sweater that smelled of weed
When he had thought himself wise and born again.
Soon, he reckoned, in his modest hat, he'd be following a police officer
to juvenile detention again, 12 days off probation.
The fool strolls, careless, as he admires the white rose in his hand.
He knows not where he goes. Though, he fancies he does.
Ms. Allard sat him down in an office. Johnson joined her outside the doorway.
How could he, even in jest, proclaim there now wasn't paraphernalia
in his pockets daily. The drinking, also no issue. He hadn't once shouted at the
fire alarm after a cup of crown and two bowls at lunch.
However, perhaps he always walks towards a precipice,
For most traveler's look to the sides of their path, learn the roads, and well,
The fool has his reason.
With the two discussing his fate scant feet away,
he stole movements: his palm slid the pipe down jean leg to the floor,
then three fingers propelled the black and green glass,
which stopped exposed on the white tile.
Divine failures make music On behalf of the divine idiot;
the glass and metal chimed when they met.
Johnson frisked him as the fool's eyes fought to look away from his fate on the floor.
"Ha what the hell how much *** do you need in your pockets?"
A tall man in a green sweatshirt, Pearson, ducked his head through the doorway.
"Sit. I want to talk to you." He couldn't, the man would see.
"No thanks, I'd rather stand." "Eh. No. Sit down."
"No, when I'm talking to you I want to look in your eyes and know what you're saying to
me."
"Fine. We're just going to suspend you. The police will search you again to make sure.
You're lucky, only 12 days from being a man." He and Allard left.
Johnson sat at his desk and turned to his computer.
The jester hid the pipe behind the mini fridge.
That should be the end of it, he always tells himself.
For two weeks thereafter, the pipe laid visible from the hinge crack of the open door.
Johnson rarely left his office unattended, As soon as he had, the fool reclaimed his
prize.
The waves at drop's edge lick at his face Until the dog he stops to pet bites him and
he plummets Into the abyss he didn't know he searched
for where his image is imprinted on the tarot
card of collective unconscious to serve as reminder for the wise, dangerous,
loud laughter within us all.