Eric Anderson

Alberto Gonzalez

Long has the world known the power of the inter-office memo. 

            The thought occurs to him and he writes it down on the legal pad which he uses

to draft all of his memos.

            Then he thinks about the phrase legal pad.  It seems funny to him.

            In his nice office, he looks through the window at a wide green lawn and a blue sky, some bushes and vines over to one side of the yard, a flag hanging limply on a pole.

            If he could, he would write a memo on the lawn itself, which would be like writing a memo on the face of the earth.

            Some memos are larger than others.

            If only memos could be written on human beings, directly on their brains or in their blood. 

            In the yard, a dark shape stirs by the vines and bushes.  For a moment, he thinks

it is some low creature, a skunk or a raccoon, but then it seems bigger, a black dog rustling onto the green, a bear

                                                but what sweet relief

                                    to see it’s only the flag’s shadow,

            the flag itself fluttering on one of those late

                                                afternoon breezes which promise a little rain in the night.