Visible Spectrum

It was about 8 in the morning mid April with the sun not shinning and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the doggy hill.  He was wearing his stripy blue suit with checked vest , display handkerchief sporting a cane and a cute little hat.  He was clean-shaven and sober and didn’t care who knew it.  Except I could smell Greenies on his breath. The rich, swarthy full-bodied aroma – like a Bunga Bangkai in full bloom.

Barley Doodle, do or die.  A real live nephew of his uncle  Sam’s – a sympathetic bad guy because of his unfortunate upbringing, born on the Fourth of July. The light had an unreal greenish color like light filtered thru an aquarium – except it was thru the newly leafed trees. The plants filled the place with nasty meaty leaves and stalks like newly washed fingers of dead men.  All were racing around the hillside, wiggly missiles carelessly flying thru legs and occasionally upending an unsuspecting customer with personage abruptly launched into the air only to splat on said ground.

The Barley Doodle went to town, riding on a dog and pony show.  Stuck a feather in his hat, called it macaroni. That Barley. A regular Einstein. Came to Riverside Park just to ride the ponies.

“Come out and take it, you dirty, yellow-bellied rat, or I’ll give it to you through the fence” said the Barley to the hound dog that likes to hide under the bench with its doohickey until the original earthling finally gets around to paying attention.

He is a Yankee Doodle boy