Antibiotics and Jameson hot toddies
Suffering from a nagging chest cold that turned into a severe sinus infection, I have had the inability over the last few days to verbally speak a coherent sentence much less write one. Therefore, instead of dissecting some relevant issue that I find interesting at the moment, I’ve decided to entertain you with my amateur writing of fast fiction and poetry. Feel free to flog me or use this entry as a target on your dart board. (Camille Claudel, The Waltz)What he wanted
was a cushion. That sat
firmly on the floor, collecting dust.
Steady old couch. Faded with sun.
Pleasant to touch
and always comfortable.
The day I spoke a squeak
He began to frizzle and backpeddle.
Couches don’t speak, he said.
They do when
you jump on them enough.
Just my cup of tea
The men gathered around the dining table, each distinguished in their look and voice. They argued of our allegiance to France. I served tea politely, leaning in toward the table between the elbows of these stately men.
As I bent forward to pour the last cup, the gentleman directly across the table stopped my gaze. His eyes pierced my thoughts and made my chest heave. I stepped back abruptly, nearly tripping over my own feet. The others took notice as I disguised myself in an act of clumsiness.
Flushed, I quickly glanced back at Mr. Hamilton. I realized that I’d be seeing him again, and that America was not going to be ready for the real me.
Snow
Crystal so clear
Prickly sideswiper
Brushes against your lips and ears
It could be a finger pointing
To wake you up
Or a jolt to loosen your fear
Frozen flower bloomed on a rock
Doesn’t want the sun to appear
To last one more hour
In its white hydranth
A creature of time
The right here, right now
Jubilation
A secret jubilation
Knocks me down on my knees
And for the first time
I see the flowers in the grass
The tiny pebbles lay insignificantly
Smiling half moons
New moons
This is no dark
As I put my hands up
Palms cup the sky
It was this day you saved me
No letters of consent came in the mail
No contest winner
A simple knock on the door
To end my winter’s achy night
Fast Potatoes
It was the day before the family’s big Thanksgiving reunion, and Grandma was certain the delivery of potatoes would arrive at any moment. She waited.
Night fell. Grandma didn’t sleep a wink stricken with fear of no potatoes. The sun was bright when the clock hit noon on feast day. Grandma was in a near-fatal panic.
Finally! A truck arrived with 80 bags of Yukons. How would Grandma make 800 pounds of mashed potatoes in just one hour? At that moment, young Joe came with exciting news. “Grandma, our neighbor Slappy just won the world’s record for being the fastest potato peeler ever!”
Grandma called Slappy and pointed him to the mounds of potatoes. His hands moved so fast with the peeler, potato skins twirled in the air all over the kitchen. It looked like a swarm of locust, but really it was potatoes. Just before the water turned to a boil, Slappy finished the last potato. Grandma dropped it in the water and smiled.
The mashed potatoes were a hit. Everyone asked for seconds. The Thanksgiving dinner was a success thanks to Slappy and his fast potatoes.
posted by tanagrame @ 5:53 PM
1 Comments:
"Slappy's fast potatoes."
There's a band name if ever I heard one...
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