The Epistemology of Cheerios
By Geffrey Davis
this the week of our son's first
upright wobble from kitchen
to living-room and he begins planting
tiny Os wherever his fleshy fingers
can reach each first shelf each chair
cushion each pair of shoes he goes
to bury a piece behind the TV
inside the pool of exposed wires
we've been saving him from
since he took to motion and I let him
go for it he survives but why
this risk how costly this whole-
grain crumb back from
the wilderness of worry for whom
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I spent non-work time Monday working on the dining room table and kitchen cabinets, both of which are still covered with stuff that has to be sorted before it can be restored/recycled/trashed. I did find a couple of treasures (kids' art projects, glass owl beads) but mostly I found broken crayons, bubble wands, souvenirs from birthday parties and other things no one will envy. (If anyone local needs alphabet magnets or plastic ice cream cups, let me know!)
It was quite hot and humid, though Tuesday is supposed to be worse (air quality warnings) so it was not a busy bunny day. We had leftover Indian food for dinner, watched the Masters of Sex we missed on Sunday (still not forgiven for the gorilla shark-jumping incident), then watched the Inspector Lewis where Hathaway is mostly absent while on holiday helping kids in Croatia (felt oddly unresolved, but had Taron Egerton, so no complaints). Amphibians from Watkins Park:
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