The Revolver in the Hive

There Was No Wind

There Was No Wind Insects loiter over the tarmac. Chauffeured on forklifts, the girls arrive— they have come to tell us about the houseboats. ‘‘Houseboats,’’ they say. Everyone is pumping gas. The carpenter carries a bucket of water, he never says why. He never says ‘‘soon’’ in a sentence. I want to tell him I bought too many lottery tickets. I want to tell him something about a dulcimer and a hubcap, but I bet he wouldn’t listen. He’s too busy at the bonsai exhibit positioning himself in a slab of sun. Now I may be easy to impress science-wise, but I hear accordions in the distance. I thought I might recline. 21 ...