Gracie Von Antemeter

One o'clock in the morning, we connect by phone, Chicago to Boston. I tell you about the ugly tomatoes I bought, your in hysterics. Listen, I say, they have a their own web site; take them seriously. We head to the fruit while you read me a story, it's about a poet, nabbed by the cliche police. You can hardly read; I can hardly listen. ROTFLOAO! We become certifiable when Tom, Matt and Otto, ("The Authentic Grape Tomatoes") say hello. I'm happy you had a good day with your new screwdriver; you're happy, and still laughing about the ugly tomatoes. Somehow we get from the perfectly round tomato, (exploited and tasteless; engineered by geeks and pushed over the top by marketing geeks) that satisfy everyone but the customer, to my telling you, Wal-mart has ripped the souls out of our towns. You read me a poem. I read you a poem, Franz Wright's "Publication Date" - I get to my favorite line- "A sparrow limps past on it's little crutch saying I am Federico Garcia Lorca risen from the dead -." and I'm gone again. You solve a bump in your epic; I agree. You read me another poem. We talk about our Kerouac trip to Georgia. A late, late IM from my daughter and I have to go; and you're ordering ugly tomatoes. Good night, Gracie.