“I’ve got to shop for pants today,”
She told the stingy traffic lights.
She told the grocer and the pump;
And then, the quickly-coming night.
“I’d love to try this recipe,”
She said, as they drew near to home;
With only time for Mac ‘N Cheese,
‘Midst whining, falsely-crying tones.
“A bath would be a lovely break
Whilst reading Lover’s Passioned Call.”
Alas, the heated water drained,
Whilst splashing children took it all.
The lights were off; he found her there,
Her loving, all-day-working man.
“I thought you wanted time alone.”
She sniffed; she said, “And, here I am.”
Flash Fiction Entry
Winter breath comes roaring down,
Madly scolding ling’ring Fall;
Brusquely ousting browning leaves,
Gath’ring frozen rain’s landfall.
Wintry hands paint sunsets gray;
Cloudlike masses broil near.
Roiling darkness cries its mists;
Spotted sidewalks drink their tears.
Wond’ring children turn to sky,
Tasting wind and hearing rain;
Watching sky-tears change to white,
Laughing at the snowed terrain.
So, when all of the food
Had been swallowed and chewed,
The guests left the dishes and host
With their brood.
And, forcing employees
To all do the same,
They shopped and they grabbed
And they spent without shame.
Please, stay home on the holidays. Popular greed is robbing store workers of time with family.
She rests there, hunched and frowning
Wrinkles supporting smile lines
Or tear path grooves.
Crooked fingers trace the running
Raindrop paths down musty screened panes
Of storm cloud gray.
A flash of color jogging by
Leg twitches in involuntary muscle memory
Like the runner in the rain.
“I used to dance in the rain,” She sighs
Machine beep sighs
Wishing for rewind to life or fast forward to death.
-Or heaven, a place where the spirit never sits confined
To wrinkle-lined faces
Beeping machine bodies
As runners dance in sky water beyond tracing window fingers.
Golden sunlight halos hail
“What wond’rous thing, this shopping cart,”
Grismelda said, to Shadow cat.
The cat looked bored; he licked a paw.
A cart, wond’rous? He’d pick a rat.
“Eek!” Gris screeched. Shadow looked up.
“What are these monstrous gold things?”
“You mean the corn?” A worker asked.
He hated Hallowe’ens.
Curious now, she tried a taste
Of yellowed, husk-wrapped coblet.
“Ugh!” She spat. Her cat hissed back.
“These corns taste worse than carpet!”
“You’ll have to buy that now, you know,”
The worried worker noted.
Gris sneered, but dropped it in her cart,
“We’ll make it candied corn,” she voted.
A second (and last) entry for The 7th Annual Halloweensie Contest.
A cat and her warty green witch
Took the sweeping tool to the roof’s pitch.
They teetered; meowed
To the cloudy moon-shroud.
Till the neighbor yelled, “Quiet down, Witch!”
Breathe a chilling calm:
Nathaniel Bataniel, what’s your deal?
Did someone walk over your grave?
Are you feeling blue, down in the dumps,
Or did you simply have a close shave?
No, I haven’t been playing poker.
I’m not dead, so I have no grave.
I’m not blue, or visiting garbage,
And, my beard shows that I have not shaved.
Nathaniel Bataniel, don’t be sore.
Don’t give me the cold shoulder now.
I just wondered what was up with you;
I thought you would not have a cow.
I feel only confusion, not pain.
I’m wearing a sweater right now.
You can see both my feet on the ground,
And no human can birth a cow.
Nathaniel Bataniel, lighten up.
This is driving me up the wall.
No one’s so literally down to Earth;
I see that with no crystal ball.
I can’t lessen weight or complexion.
Cars don’t usually drive on walls.
Of course I’m right here on this planet!
And why would you need crystal balls?
I can’t talk about winning a fight,
Or men making and breaking molds.
I can see clearly that I should leave;
That silence is worth more than gold.
There goes Nathaniel, who can’t be beat.
When they made him, they broke the mold.
Despite claims that it’s all clear as mud,
He knew speech has a cost of gold.
A bather whose clothing was strewed
By winds that left her quite nude
Saw a man come along
And unless we are wrong
You expected this line to be lewd.