9000 Words

  Photo credit:  Scott Cain  "10 Confessions" I have water skied behind a 18’ sailboat: I find it funny that something I did as a kid, with the help of many adults, has gained me as much infamy. The boats name was “Angel Dust”. It was the 1980’s. And I was a small 13 year old boy, on two wooden water skies, that were enormous compared to my self. I could almost stand up on them, on the water, with out moving. It was a very windy day on Bussey lake, where swimming is forbidden. Three accomplished sailors who were most certainly drunk, held down the Chrysler Buccaneer as she planed over the “water”, and pulled me illegally over Shaumburg’s effluence. Yes, Bussey lake is the out flow pond from a water treatment plant… It is were I had my moment of fame.  I keep a blog that no one reads: It is my repository for what I consider finished works. I wish someone would take a moment to look at it once in a while. I want to sail to Australia: I found a love for sailing when I was 11 yea

  Photo credit:  Scott Cain  "Prose at Woosley" I haven’t posted in a while  The sky has been so gray And I have not felt worthy of what I might say Despite my preoccupation I know I need your companionship But, what message I might I display I know not under my blanket on this day Forgive me if all I have is a scroll past Your happiness and Joy is all that I pray As I walk with these dogs at Woolsey

Photo credit:  Scott Cain  "Garbage Truck Accident" I hung up the phone. The woman had been pleasant, but had provided no answers. It was three weeks since I had seen him. She said he was 7th in line, what ever that meant. My gut said that they were planning to keep him for another month.   At 2pm, in a quiet valley, where a road ended, there was chaos. A garbage man was on the ground. He had lost his balance, missed the brake, stumbled, and then fell out his truck. I watched him as he smacked his head on the asphalt. It was not as he had planned things to go. The big stinky truck rolled away backwards down the hill. The big beast now free was going on a killing spree. A little Jeep its first victim. The poor little thing squealed as she was smashed and pushed against her will. Thirty feet down the hill and into old man Nissan. A terrible crunch! Now he too protested with fright as the brute gouged, smashed, and bent his rusty old frame.   At the bottom of the valley Gary was