Somewhere in between the Good Holiday—
Thanksgiving,
and the Bad Holiday—
Halloween,
lies the Little Holiday.
When Daylight Savings Time ends,
an extra hour drops in our laps
At the very moment that bars close at 2am.
Coincidence ?
How quickly we forget that we already donated that hour,
six months ago,
and have long since forgotten about it.
Your friendly bartender would be happy to supply you
with the courage to take on anything—
your new diet,
the expired gym membership,
that big talk with your boss,
the garage that's becoming impassable,
your next (or first) book of poetry.
And that's what this extra hour does for some people,
triggering a deep fantasy of
how to make an extra hour magically appear
every night.
You'll see them,
congregating in small groups,
tucked away in dark booths in the bar.
Conniving about how to make this happen,
like bank robbers scheming for their
Really Big Heist.
"Let's turn all of our clocks back at exactly the same time."
"Nah, let's break into the building
that measures Greenwich Mean Time
and mess with their fancy clock."
“Whaddya’ think about dressing in space suits and
pedaling as fast we can on stationary bikes?"
"I got it. Let's find some holy dude who can bi-locate
and steal his watch!"
"You'll love this. Each of us hang glides through the Bermuda Triangle on our birthdays."
But the darker, more intense fantasies
are reserved for the
Parties-Of-One.
Acts that would go far beyond the norms of civil
for
Civil Society.
The very stuff of twisted crime tales,
their very own
Little Shop Of Horrors.
For a Time Bandit,
one hour would never be enough...
Why are only some drawn to this like
a moth to a flame,
While others would hardly give this scenario
a second thought ?
Place your bets, that's right Ladies and Gentlemen,
Place Your Bets.
Place your bets, that's right Ladies and Gentlemen,
Place Your Bets.
Place your bets, that's right Ladies and Gentlemen,
Place Your Bets.
Place your bets, that's right Ladies and Gentlemen,
Place Your Bets
November 2010
