I
am in a little cafe'
Near
the sea
And
I am having breakfast
With
my adopted son,
Or
daughter, Whitey,
A
muskrat.
Let
me explain.
Whitey
was born an albino.
When
I was just a little boy
We
were down by the brook
And
saw a whole litter of muskrats
Playing
together on the earthen dam
By
the spillway of our pond.
(The
pond was more like a small lake.
We
had lots of money back then,
But
that's another story.)
Then,
the summer passed.
All
the baby muskrats grew up
And
left
Except
for the pure white one,
.
. .Whitey.
There
was something special about Whitey.
She
never seemed to age.
She
lived by the spillway,
Always
alone, summer after summer.
I
aged quickly.
I
graduated high school.
Left
for college.
Traveled.
Went
to grad school.
Traveled.
Got
married.
Had
kids.
Got
divorced.
Traveled.
Remarried.
Moved
to Vermont in the late 1980s.
Got old.
Now
Whitey is back.
She
is bigger.
She
looks great!
She
talks a lot
But
she's a good listener too.
She's
funny
And
loves to have her belly tickled.
When
we finish breakfast
We're
going to walk on the beach.
Whitey
is interested in my writing.
She's
interested in me
And
wants to collaborate on a project.
I
could go on.
(I
talk more when I'm happy),
But
the waitress keeps looking over
Like
she wants us to pay up.
There
are people lined up outside
And
peering in the window.
Besides,
Whitey is antsy
To
get moving.
This is going to be an amazing day!
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