www.bluetyger.ca main page	Periscope by William J. Gibson
	Sinatra on the stereo The dog gulping down water after a late night walk. The work week staring at me come morning. There is nothing wrong. This is my mantra for the night and the day And the following night   I have clean laundry. It is supposed to rain tomorrow. Ok. I can handle that. I drove down Bayview two hours ago. A thin raccoon was annoyed by the headlights. He spun around on the sidewalk Thinking over his route. You talked to me on your cell A month ago, spinning past Edwards Gardens Where the road dips, not long before sundown You were delighted to see the fox Heading home, the squirrel in her mouth. There is nothing wrong. There is nothing. So I drank my designer water Which for some reason made me think Of my uncles in the war Merchant Marine sailors on lake freighters Coastal convoys from the US up to Halifax. U-boats liked those boats, they were the slowest. I remember my uncle the accountant, his eyes The same as my mother's. I remember my uncle The farmer, his hands so huge, the fingers thick Always looked like they had just twisted a tree trunk, Why bother with an axe or saw, his gentle, patient voice. Every thing is okay. I believe it is the case. The dog, she looks at me from her couch. Solemn brown eyes, body relaxed. Her tail Doing her impression of Buddy Rich. God watches.
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