The Golden Apple
By Jamie Brown
Three women wait on different balconies this night --
the first upon the Aventine among
the purple, flowering vines woven
through the lattice of her porch
gazing at the darkening
chianti flavored sky
the next in the Testaccio
with hanging laundry
garlanding her vantage point
the third from her lover's flat
above the Via Veneto
considering idling traffic in
the evening rush-hour, the
clamor of pedestrians on
the sidewalk one floor below
arguing with spouses, debating
with co-workers, haggling with
flower-sellers
and each of the three gazing wistfully
out into the mottling gray and purpling sky
as if the answer to their questions
lay outside of themselves.
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I had to get up early Thursday because the workmen doing renovations on our master bathroom wanted to start early; the leaking bathtub is being replaced, as is the cracking back wall and plumbing. So I had to work with a mask on a lot of the day, and I honestly can't figure out what I did or did not get done (not more laundry since the water was turned off a lot of the day). We had appointments for flu shots at 7 p.m. at Walgreens, so we went to Cava for dinner on the way, and now we are vaccinated till we're covid booster-eligible.
We watched the start of the NFL season -- with some apathy, because I certainly don't root for the Cowboys but I also really can't root for Tom Brady -- then I had my Thursday night chat with fangirls, which I left early so Cheryl and I could watch Deep Space Nine's "The Siege" (one of the greats). Now I'm watching "Emissary" just because I haven't seen it in so long and I missed the start of the rewatch cycle on Dish (I own the DVDs, so the show leaving Netflix won't affect me). Some fun from shopping in Rehoboth on Monday:
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