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Henry

HALF MY YOUTH WAS FILLED WITH THE LIGHT OF A TRANSPARENT FECKLESS WONDER --
I LOOK BACK ON IT NOW, SLACK AND ASKANCE, WITH BARNACLES ON MY FEET.

HENRY MANDERING WAS NOT AS IMPORTANT IN 1956 AS HE IS NOW.
AS I THINK ABOUT HIM, MY LEFT VENTRICLE FILLS WITH FLUID AND SERAPHIMS
ARE RIFE ABOUT MY NOSE. THEY APPEAR LIKE HIVES, SINISTER, YET BULBOUS IN THEIR MOVEMENT.

MY MOTHER CANNED A BELFRY FLASK IN THE SPRING OF HENRY'S EMERGENCE.

NO ONE FROM THE HYDRANT GANG MADE IT TO THE OPENING, BUT THE POLITE APPLAUSE NEARLY CARRIED IT. I MUSED ABOUT A SPENT BANANA SKIN WHILE MOM MADE APPROPRIATE CLUCKING NOISES WITH A HALF OPEN BRIDGE, AN ODE TO THE DENTAL MAGIC OF HENRY'S FATHER, DR. SHUPACK.

THE ALARM RANG AND I JUMPED TO MY KNEES, ADOPTING QUICKLY AN ARROGANT POSTURE IN THE WALT FRAZIER MODE. THE CEILING HAD NO ANSWERS.