Reading the Next Day


Going back to reading what

Was written

Sometimes there’s little sense

Like looking back on doodles

Or freewriting

Looking back on other things

That’s harder

Talking with fewer people in old age

Means less chance for faux pas

Or maybe it’s reclusion


I don’t need a bigger pile

Piling in the in-box

Who does?


I go back to what I read

Having picked it up in the middle of the night

Because I wasn’t sleeping yet

And a story called

(I’m not sure who was more at fault)

When I return

Will I be welcome?

Will I be welcomed again?

I mean, yes, I bought the thing

But there’s more

An invitation

Riding like the girl who

Delivered most of the news

From Paul Revere

The book is here:

Will I take the message?

Will I accept responsibility for

Interpretation, then dissemination

Throughout the land?


You see, clearly there are questions

And there’s pressure

A lady or a tiger

Re-reading yesterday’s

New pages

In new hours

And then there’s what I’ve written


C L Couch



Photo by Prasanna Kumar on Unsplash

Besant nagar beach, Chennai, India

Books, most loyal friends.


If true, Ludington’s story puts Revere’s to shame, writes Valerie DeBenedette for Mental Floss. She “rode twice as far as Revere did, by herself, over bad roads and in an area roamed by outlaws, to raise Patriot troops to fight in the Battle of Danbury and the Battle of Ridgefield in Connecticut,” DeBenedette writes. “And did we mention it was raining?”