“Wait.”
“Wait what?”
“That.”
“That what?”
“That!”
“That what? What are you talking about, man?”
“Can’t you taste that?”
“Taste… what? We’re walking down the street, we’re not even eating anything… what the fuck?”
“Calm down, man. I guess I had some pepper left over from dinner.”
“And why the fuck should I be able to taste it?”
“Well it was kinda strong.”
this world is a whitewashed place
with no corners, no curves
just endless void of colour
for time unsummed
but then
a glimmer,
is that a spot of darkness?
a punctuation upon the snowbound plain?
a figure…
no
it’s only
the hope to which I cling
a mirage that tells me eternally
don’t give up
Aloha Grace envisioned a place
with palm trees and white sandy beaches
In her room was a poster; she sat and imagined
the sea and the man she would meet there
For Aloha Grace lived in the arctic,
where the sun shone an hour a day
From this frozen tundra she needed escape
the moment she came of an age
Aloha Grace stepped off of the plane
and she breathed in the smell of the ocean
A half hour later her toes in the sand,
in the shade of a palm tree she stood
Then Aloha Grace, with the sun in her face
met the man she was destined to fall for
But a one-night stand left her colder than ice
and she realised the beach and the palm trees had lied
Aloha Grace went home in disgrace
pregnant and husbandless too
Down came the poster and down went the sun
for the grass is no greener than snow.
It all started with a fortune cookie: buying the lottery ticket; winning the jackpot; getting on the rocket, then landing on the moon… If she’d have shut up about that damned fortune cookie, we might not have left her there.
“I’m not here to amuse you,” she said as she unbuttoned her blouse.
He lay on the bed regarding her silently.
“Which side do you want?”
No answer.
“Okay, I’ll choose.”
When she reclined, he made his move.
“Stop licking my face, or I’ll replace you with a real man.”
“You tryin’ to sell me somethin’ boy? ‘Coz if you are, I got somethin’ to tell you: I ain’t buyin’. M’kay? I just ain’t buyin’ yo crap. I’mma tell you somethin’ else – I ain’t listenin’ to yo crap!”
“Errr… I just wanted to know if you’d like fries with that.”
Come in
See what’s in store
for your amusement
come through the door
take all your money
place it right here
you know your friends want it
even more than a beer
Our wares are to die for
just look at them there
a ripped away pocket
a thin lock of hair
More juicy and flea ridden
I think you’ll agree
The moth-eaten clothing
Is better than free
So buy with abandon
Take home what you need
Your friends will be gleeful
For the free-for-all feed!
This mess has been brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click this link http://lindaghill.com/2015/12/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-1915/ and join in today!
having the Dickens of a time
with chipped nail polish
of a night in
crazed expectation
Mr. Strange was the normalest person he himself knew. He shaved every morning and put on his suit and went to work as an accountant in a perfectly normal firm downtown. He drove a Lexus and he lived in a three bedroom bungalow by himself with his dog and his cat and his three fish. The bodies buried in the basement didn’t count as other people. They were corpses.
***
Miss Harper enjoyed the company of Mr. Strange very much. She was a secretary at the firm in which he worked. She lived downtown a few blocks from the company in an apartment on the fifth floor. She didn’t drive, but she had admired Mr. Strange’s Lexus and even said so once. She was hoping he would invite her out to dinner.
***
Mr. Tarvell was Mr. Strange’s boss. He always thought there was something odd about Mr. Strange, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He knew his secretary, Miss Harper, had a “thing” for Mr. Strange and he wanted to say something but he didn’t quite know how.
***
Mr. Strange’s dog wouldn’t stop trying to get into the basement. He thought about giving the dog to Miss Harper, the secretary at work. She seemed lonely. Perhaps he would invite her over.
***
Miss Harper’s first visit to Mr. Strange’s house was an event that surpassed every event that she had ever had in her life. On the outside, Mr. Strange was a kind man. Gentle, it seemed. In fact he was the normalest man she had ever had the pleasure of working with. However, they had barely started into dessert when he swooped everything off the table, the table cloth included, and crawled over to her and kissed her passionately. They never made it to the bedroom. He made love to her under the dining room table, her head banging on one of the chair legs each time he thrust into her. She took a taxi home. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
***
Mr. Tarvell noticed a strange smell on Miss Harper’s clothes the next day. It seemed, somehow, that she had gotten moldy. Like she had spent the night in the refrigerator, cuddled up to a basket of rotting strawberries. He didn’t want to say anything lest it seem rude.
***
Mr. Strange was the normalest person he himself knew. That he would soon require a bigger basement meant that he would also probably need a new job. A better paying job. A job in a town where no one knew him. Leaving his present house to the dog seemed the wisest choice he had made in quite some time.
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. It’s only late if you insist on changing the clocks at 2am… http://lindaghill.com/2015/10/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-3115/
It wasn’t that Melissa didn’t like Teddy. It was the light in his eyes when he looked at her that she couldn’t abide. Half the time it made her feel as though she might be stuck with a man who followed her around like a pesky dog for the rest of her breathing days, and the other half of the time his glint-gaze gave her the creeps. She was afraid if she gave in and decided to sleep with him (finally) she might never wake up.
The one time she tried to end it it had been raining. She stood at the precipice of a puddle and he stood in it. She couldn’t help but wonder if his shoes were filled with water. How could she break up with a man with wet feet? Melissa may have been many things, but heartless wasn’t one of them.
So she decided to write him a poem. To let him down from a distance, where she wouldn’t know if he was standing in a puddle like a pathetic, gallant clown. Her first attempt was a limerick:
There once was a girl we won’t mention
Who was getting far too much attention
She was getting the creeps
When he said, ‘it’s for keeps’
But Melissa couldn’t come up with another word that rhymed with ‘attention,’ so she tried another:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m breaking up with you.
It seemed far too abrupt. And if she was going to be abrupt, why not just text him with the news? She tried:
Dear Teddy. I can’t see you any more. Your eyes are weird. Love, Melissa.
but she didn’t want to lead him on with the words ‘dear’ and ‘love.’
So in the end she simply approached him with a bucket of cold water, threw it at him and told him to figure it out for himself.
Melissa’s only regret is that she might have put his light out for good. Someone else should definitely have had the benefit of that light. Someone more deserving.
This post is part of SoCS: http://lindaghill.com/2015/09/04/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-515/
Linda G. Hill 