The Trouble with FrankThis story first appeared in The Waterhouse Review, September 2012
Artwork by Jennifer McIntosh
He’s a weed.
I mean it in the truest sense, the pure botanical definition. Weeds don’t really exist in the botanical world, you know. All a weed is, see, is a plant growing somewhere unwanted, out of time and out of place. Out of its element, undesirable.
But something in the environment, something pre-existing, is obviously encouraging the growth of this plant, ensuring its survival and promoting its spread. There’s an element of culpability in the proliferation of weeds—that’s what makes them doubly regrettable.
It is virtually impossible, once a weed is extant, to eradicate it. You can try various measures, but they are always hit and miss. Moreover, you must sleep.
