CAROUSEL WIND

~~~When men first landed on the moon, I was working as an armed human scarecrow at a cherry farm. My alleged duty was to sit on top of a rickety tower and scare the birds with a shotgun. To look the part I would often wear my poetry coat. ~~~My poetry coat had humble beginnings as a navy blue overcoat in the Salvation Army. I tie dye bleached it and inscribed poems in the faded blotches. The poems were kept on the inside, it being a time when I still had some modesty and occasionally opened up to bare my soul. ~~~Sometimes I would employ the poetry coat as my phantom surrogate. Using a water cooler in place of my head, I would put a straw hat on it, and place it where the railing converged. Then I'd prop up a crate and drape my coat with the shotgun holding the arms on the railing, thereby creating the illusion of being on the job. ~~~The only difference between an actual scarecrow and a human scarecrow is the human element. By removing the human element I was able to come down to earth and do nefarious things, such as sneak up on my friend Michael in his nearby tower. ~~~During the evening when flocks of starlings flew high overhead some of the young charges would blast their way through high heaven. Of course we were supposed to just scare the birds and not kill them. Nothing in the job description, however, specifically stated that we shouldn't perforate our fellow workers. ~~~So it was with quiet abandon that I made my usual climb up Michael's tower. The towers had a tendency to sway when mounted, so it was difficult to ascend in a stealthy manner. Approaching the last few rungs I heard a volley of shots. Michael peered over the edge. "Now Stefan," he said, "I knew you were up to something when I saw that crow land on your hat." ~~~Upon returning to my tower I was shocked to see what had happened in my absence. My beloved poetry coat had been shot full of holes. I opened the walking anthology, and saw how a fine spray had decimated my precious lyrics. Looking through the holes I came to the sad realization that there were words missing from some of my poems. And that was the first time it occurred to me that I should edit my work. ~~~© 1997 Stefan des Lauriers