Flickr:Circulating

Really?  Have I really been challenged to a duel via tape recorder?

I can remember when my mind used to be someone I could count on.  But I can’t live in the past. 

Yanking the golden bowling ball from its movie star pedestal, the weight of it almost pops my shoulder out of joint.  But the ball is luxuriously round.  My thumb and two middle fingers slide inside the holes like three fleshy penguins sliding into a tunnel of fish.  

Whoever was responsible for this drill job knows my fingers in the most personal way:  the carving follows every indent, every knuckle fold, every baby-fine hair on the back of each finger.  The inner canals of this bowling ball are such faithful reproductions of my fingers that I wonder if the maker would design a vibrator for me as well.