99% of men at a Yankee game refrain from washing their hands after a visit to the Men’s room.
There was something macho about this lapse in cleanliness so far from godliness.
As a Red Sox fan I was no different from these Yankee cocksuckers.
Covid-19 has converted me to frequent hand-washing.
My fingers no longer smell of my nether parts.
French lavender from Grasse.
My Yankee grandmother’s favorite fragrance.
She served as a nurse in the World War I.
I remember her bedroom walls.
The unscarred French landscapes of the flat land.
I wasn’t there, but in Maine in the 1950s.
A better time than now at least for young white boys outside of Portland dreaming of southern France and not the mud of the Somme.
