The Meadow Literary and Art Journal 2011

Late for Work by Jim Lamoreux Morning came to Albert’s window. The glass was obscured with filth and Morning just stood there looking in, unable to see anything inside. All around the city hummed, hissed and beeped. Outside Albert’s apartment the World walked about with heavy feet, it brushed its teeth, it combed its hair. The World sat down to the kitchen table and poured its coffee and got ready to begin the day. Albert watched the World from his bed, the sheets so unwashed they were like crepe. Albert had to get in gear or be late for work. Albert looked hard at the windows of his bedroom. He saw the light fingering the window glass like brilliant butterflies. He blinked them away. Focusing beyond the glass through the dirt and dust, he vaguely saw the city reach out a steak knife, trying to carve up the minutes of the day for everyone, serving it to them like a smothering, overbearing Mother. Albert was still in bed. He raised himself from the sheets, stood up and strolled naked across the floor like a drunken surveyor, marking out the distance with shaky strides. It was a short few steps from the bed to the bathroom. Above him, as he sat on the toilet, a single bulb whined. A moment later last night’s dinner spun down the pipes and out to sea. This was a good beginning. He wiped, stood up from the toilet, and looked weakly into the glass of the mirror. His face was gang-beaten by Time, what used to look like the familiar child in the family photo book now appeared swollen and abused like a roughed up Potato Head. The dark jaw erupted in stubble as if his lower face had been swarmed by tiny black ants. It was painful to look at himself. The pain felt like a toothache that settled like a cat with long claws on the top of his brain, trapped in the dome of the skull’s brain pan, purring and kneading the red tissue with long, pin sharp nails. He stabbed at his teeth with a stiff toothbrush. Outside a dog urinated on the tires of his car. His garbage can sat in the driveway erupting with TV dinners. The sun crawled weakly up the dome of the sky, shadows spreading like spilled ink on the park grass and sidewalks. Albert was going to be late for work. He stopped brushing his teeth and looked down into the bowl of the bathroom sink, and saw a tooth. He thought at first that it might be popcorn. He fingered it curiously. It was a tooth. On the sink porcelain the tooth was surrounded by a swirl of gray hair. It was just a skiff of hair, but it was enough to make him pause. He was balder in the mirror today. The angry bathroom light bulb reflected a hard white shine on the dome of his head. He stood at the sink like a speaker at a lectern. Something fell to the floor with a small thud. It tumbled behind the toilet. The cold from the bathroom tile crawled up the muscles in his legs from the bottom of his feet. He noticed in 36 theMeadow

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