The lost sole

On Webster Street in Lewiston last week, I spotted a lone boot standing on the road shoulder looking all sad and abandoned. A black woman’s dress boot, it appeared to be, composed of some felt-like material — I didn’t dare inspect the boot more closely for fear that there might be a human foot still occupying it. After I posted a photo of this lonely boot, tips as to the whereabouts of its mate have come in from all over, with the most recent sighting being in the parking lot of the Windham Walmart. Now that I’ve raised the alarm about this lost sole, I feel spiritually connected to it and morally obliged to get it reunited with its partner. Or I could just scoop it up and toss it in the trash. I could go either way, really.

The lost pom?

I also found, near Bates College, a single pompom. Although, if we’re talking about a single pompom is it just called a pom? If that’s so, what would you call a whole flock of poms? I fear we’re getting into a territory where math might be required, so let’s just forget the whole thing.

I have nothing clever to say about goats

So last week I wrote a story about a team of goats cleaning up a Lewiston cemetery. Easy assignment, right? Mein Goat! The hardest part of this piece by far was putting up with all the bad (you’ll notice I didn’t write “baaaaaad”) goat puns that infected every conversation I had about the story with editors, photographers and the like. Even the crankiest, most humorless editors in the joint got in on the act, flinging goat wordplay in all directions. Well, my friends, I’m above all that. I just won’t be a part of such silliness. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake! Which is really just my way saying that I can’t come up with any good goat puns because they’ve all been taken.

It’s not whether you win or lose…

So when a candidate identified only as “LaFlamme” garnered a respectable 67 votes in last week’s U.S. Senate race, several people assumed it was me. I got so many congratulations on the matter that I walked around with a little extra swagger for days. Turns out the candidate was one Andrea LaFlamme from Bangor who had run as a write-in. She’s a registered Democrat so, no relation.

The Stanley Cup

I don’t want to talk about the Stanley Cup. Why’d you bring that up? It was a championship series that was destined to go seven games and then the Vegas Golden Knights, or whatever they’re called, decided to just lay down and die in game six. Bunch of poms.

Mark LaFlamme is an award-winning Sun Journal reporter and columnist. He’s covered the nighttime police beat since 1994, which is just grand because he doesn’t like getting out of bed before noon. He is the author of eight published novels and rides a dual sport motorcycle everywhere he goes. Unless it’s winter, in which case he just sulks a lot.