i bought a used copy of
the flower of evil, and on page 207
i found a notecard with a name and a number,
and while the sensible side of my mush-filled brain
says it would be unwise,
unhinged,
not-v-e-r-y-advisable,
to call the person,
i can't help but recall
that little jingle from my childhood,
would you be mine? could you be mine?
won't you be my neighbor?
i picked up a stranger,
gave ‘em a ride to wherever,
because i read too much poetry and fiction,
and figured (eight, ate, and weight) that there’s always the possibility,
no matter where you are,
that any stranger you come across
could be almighty gawd, o’ gawd,
what have i done,
i picked up that random stranger in my nissan sentra
and took ‘em to where he wanted to go,
but he said he don’t know,
just wherever…
but just not there…
Fred Aiken Writing 