I had to put my coffee down when the ticket taker came to the window and asked to see my papers. She smiled like a wolf on a hot day. The archivists were trying to get rid of a backlog of surplus anger, eight years worth stacked neatly in a corner of the Capitol back in the 1890s. Starting bids for the smallest lots were only a few bucks, but you had to qualify. Promise you’d only use all that rage for good. You take bribes, right? I asked. She waved me in with her flashlight. Trains rumbled along tracks on the far side of the river.
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
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I love this, James. Thank you for posting.
Thank you for reading, Laura. I’m glad you liked it.
Good one to revive.
Thanks, Barbara. Although, it was unintentional. I was tinkering around in the backend and accidentally republished a raft of old poems (and so I apologize for all the email and pings that generated). Turns out a few of them still seem a bit timely. Thanks for reading and for your comment.