about dream slacks

my room on fenwick ave. was small, but had just enough room for the single canopied bed with matching french provincial bedside and full dresser.

it had two big closets side by side; the one on the right filled with stuffed animals that allergies would only allow me to visit.mr. dog, mrs. cat, mr. shark [my virgo “imagination” at work] lived an unruffled life together in the dark. year after year after year.across from the closets, the window looking out on the a sky filled to the brim with UFOs circling the airspace in front the house. [logan airport holding pattern].some nights i feared the inevitable abduction; at least i would see them coming up the walkway. oh god, i would SEE them,  noooo.other nights i wondered what the holdup was—cant they see me here waiting?! i know they can SEE ME; i’m one of them. they can see me waiting, so i wont move.

. . . on saturday mornings, i would race to the bottom dresser drawer [pronounced draw] looking for my new white bell bottom hiphuggers. what gives? where are they? how am i supposed to watch the Hudson Brothers Razzle Dazzle Show without them?! this draw only has boot cut cords . . .

realization: dream slacks cant be worn