“Climate change.” My elderly father taps the newspaper. “What do they think? That we can just close down businesses? Give up our cars? Stop eating hamburgers? No one’s going to go along with that.”
I don’t respond, our perspectives so far apart, words can’t bridge the chasm.
“And why should I care?” he asks the paper. “I’m not going to be around when it all goes to hell.”
My grandson plays in front of the television, watching superhero cartoons. His great grandfather flicks the remote. The child stills, silent, stares. Silhouettes of kangaroos leap across the burning sky, a world on fire.
Lament your future
As we grant with apathy
A burned legacy
God bless the little children
We bequeath a blazing world
Note: Apologies to my father for the portrayal. This is so NOT him.
I can’t get the photos of Australia’s fires out of my head.
Mike Allegra did it again. He had me laughing until my sides hurt. Happy Sunday.
The Fire Inside
by Mike Allegra
Transitioning back to my house husband role was easier than expected.
The new high-tech washing machine that Ellen bought turned out to be cooperative and friendly. It even sings a little song at the end of each load, which is far more pleasant than the roaring, meaty farts offered up by the dryer.
I cleaned out the refrigerator — throwing away the squishy things that were supposed to be crisp and the crispy things that were supposed to be squishy.
And I reworked Ellen’s filing system; that is to say I “filed” and created a “system.”
After removing the old and unneeded documents from these files, I found myself with a stack of paper about four inches high.
My son, Alex, stopped me on my way to the shredder. “Don’t shred them,” he scolded. “Burn ’em!” This idea seemed slightly psychotic, but…