Will my novel get published? Farewell to the Dumpster

 A huge dumpster sat in Scott's drive for several weeks while his roof and then second floor deck was being worked on. Detritus from my roof was also in there.

Today Bob Walmsley, the boss, said the dumpster would go. You pay to rent this.

 I was watching serial killers on YouTube, and napping, while a woman, the mother of quadruplets was being - and this is terrible - butchered - when a huge noise awoke me.

The white dumpster above was being locked onto the orange truck.

Gonna run offstage a second while I compose an Ode to the Dumpster.

ODE TO A DUMPSTER

We come in all sizes
Maybe we terrify the neighborhood
who wonder What's inside?
In the middle of the night
No one dove in
Treasures not
Unless you wanted some extra
shingles for your roof
some wrapped in a blowsy
black bag
Too late
But we dream of it
by the light of the moon.

Krish and his wife Usha met me at the Willow Grove Giant.

Scott gave me the Flash Drive which revealed my entire first novel and also the second, which I thought had been lost forever. That was really exciting.

It will take several weeks for the editors of Auctus Press to decide whether or not they wanna publish it.

Meantime I ordered a delicious latte, I think it was, that Kathe made me.

It may have had caramel in it.

When she asked if I wanted whipped cream I said, No, I have diabetes.

Meantime when I got home my sugar was 343. Do not tell Cecilia, tho I did write it in my composition book.

Don't worry about payments for your book, said Krish. It's a very complicated system. And includes royalties.

May I utter a brief prayer?

Almighty Creator, if it's your will, my novel will be published.



Just remembered that Usha and Krish gave me a two-handed handshake, like my former psychiatrist Larry Schwartz did.

THE FAST BOY

Sometimes he runs round the block
with his girl dog Sydney
but now he's alone.
Wears those stretchy shorts
with a line flowing down
as if to make it vanish
as he runs.
Tell no one
but once I was like you
calves and thighs
churning
twin legs
pinioned to the ground
may you run
and make your parents
proud as you surpass them.

* * *

For an hour I was listening to a podcast - what's dat! - of Sharon Olds read her poetry to Krista Tippett. Click here. 

Years ago I wrote a story about Sharon Olds who appeared at the library of the Bryn Athyn Cathedral. Great article. I was friends at the time with Walter Straus, born in 1918, who has disappeared but is not dead.

He said to me, You sure can write, Ruthie. Not anything like your terrible poetry.