No expensive-
sounding
arabesques, I'm
afraid—and no
fancy tricks; these slight
righteous hands were just
never made to be
too hot for folding-
up or cold-calling.
They've
just got good
fingers for firm plums—
for holding stiff
picks and pens and things—
and for clenching
thick
books to swat (to strains
of the 1812
Overture in boxer
shorts, per-
haps?) any lazy
fat Autumn houseflies I
might find—but only
for my
jumpy
dog's druthers, of course.
