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Restless Leg Syndrome

Written by: James Tate | Biography
 After the burial 
we returned to our units 
and assumed our poses. 
Our posture was the new posture 
and not the old sick posture. 
When we left our stations 
it was just to prove we could, 
not a serious departure 
or a search for yet another beginning. 
We were done with all that.
We were settled in, as they say, 
though it might have been otherwise. 
What a story!
After the burial we returned to our units 
and here is where I am experiencing 
that lag kicking syndrome thing. 
My leg, for no apparent reason,
flies around the room kicking stuff, 
well, whatever is in its way, 
like a screen or a watering can.
Those are just two examples
and indeed I could give many more.
I could construct a catalogue 
of the things it kicks, 
perhaps I will do that later.
We'll just have to see if it's really wanted. 
Or I could do a little now 
and then return to listing later.
It kicked the scrimshaw collection, 
yes it did. It kicked the ocelot, 
which was rude and uncalled for,
and yes hurtful. It kicked 
the guacamole right out of its bowl, 
which made for a grubby 
and potentially dangerous workplace. 
I was out testing the new speed bump 
when it kicked the Viscountess, 
which she probably deserved, 
and I was happy, needless to say, 
to not be a witness.
The kicking subsided for a while, 
nobody was keeping track of time 
at that time so it is impossible 
to fill out the forms accurately. 
Suffice it to say we remained
at our units on constant alert.
And then it kicked over the little cow town
we had set up for punching and that sort of thing, 
a covered wagon filled with cover girls.
But now it was kicked over 
and we had a moment of silence, 
but it was clear to me 
that many of our minions 
were getting tetchy 
and some of them were getting tetchier.
And then it kicked a particularly treasured snuff box 
which, legend has it, once belonged to somebody 
named Bob Mackey, so we were understandably 
saddened and returned to our units rather weary. 
No one seemed to think I was in the least bit culpable. 
It was my leg, of course, that was doing the actual kicking, 
of that I am almost certain.
At any rate, we decided to bury it.
After the burial we returned to our units 
and assumed our poses.
A little bit of time passed, not much, 
and then John's leg started acting suspicious. 
It looked like it wanted to kick the replica 
of the White House we keep on hand 
just for situations such as this.
And then, sure enough, it did.



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