This morning, Connie backed her car into one of the planters in front of the house. She got out and ruefully noted, "My behind is bigger than I thought...."
Then we looked at each other and cracked up. "Story of my life..." she said.
And I recall how I, too, can be a much bigger ass than I concede I can be. As my allusion when I wrote this new poem at the Beach House:
for a long
poets, as if
knowledge they did