Meet Frank, Who Lives In My Garden


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That’s Frank, known otherwise among polite people as St. Francis of Assisi.

He used to live in my mother’s bedroom, on top of a dresser, where she draped his arms with her gold chains. I doubt that Frank saw his mission in life was to drape himself in gold and hang out in women’s bedrooms. He was her favorite saint but I never understood her using him as a jewelry stand.

Anyway, she’s gone and I decided that Frank needed to renew his vows and such. His big saintly concept was to love animals, if you recall correctly. So I put him out in the back yard, in the bushes along the fence where cats skulk and rabbits hide and skunks amble and possums root for grubs. Frank’s a homey there.

Every morning when I  step out for a breath of fresh air, or rain, I look at him and say, “Hi Frank. Well, we’ve really screwed up the planet, dude. Enjoy it while you can.” Or words to that effect. Sometimes it’s just, “Hi Frank.” I figure he knows the rest by now.

He never says anything. He just stares up into the sun. I figure he’d rather be blind than look at what we’ve done.


Ah well, better sun and rain than gold chain, Frankie. Right?



6 Responses

  1. Now don’t you feel like running through a field of flowers? I used to love that movie. 🙂 And as a kid I loved St. Francis’ poetry. He was a fave.

    And this one was my very favorite:


  2. Run? Fields of flowers? Surely you forget who you’re talking to!

    They left a line out of the prayer:
    “Where there are Republicans, Democrats”

    You know how times change…


  3. This seems so…Catholic of you. What next? Trans-vaginal ultrasounds?

    It takes me back to Myne Youf when I believed in Old St. Frank. But then, I believed in St. Chris, and then the Church de-sainted him, and I was crushed. I wanted to cross a river and have him carry me (this was before I could drive across bridges). So when they did that to Chris, I thought, who’s next? St. Frank?

    Ah yes, I so love to reminisce.


    • What is that, two vaginas talking to each other in high squeaky voices?

      Anyway, I have to look at this as a victory. I put a religious saint in his place. Maybe I should put a little Pope Gnome out there too. Or a Santorum Gnome.


      • The place for a Santorum gnome is wherever the dog pisses.


        • Dog, hell! I’ll do it myself.


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