So much I’ve read
So much I’ve read
“When the daylight returned the King was dead”, the obituary read. As they gathered at the gate with candles, bouquets wailing the length of his days cut short the King slipped out into a Wrangler purchase just recently made. “Tragic, tragic” most wept, though poetically ought be weeped, while some begrudgingly grumbled who’d get it that Jeep.
He knew t’were the only way he’d have a life, theirs’d go on in these modern times as caterers called prepared brunch for new friends who didn’t care who or wherever he’d been, and the widow next door leathery-tanned, smile dazzling walked in.
Eyes sparkling he grinned.
The prompt this week:
“…when the daylight returned the king was dead…”
Were you really silly enough to think I’d go without seeing you first? That was an update and a place I went in 1986.
If you thought I was given a gift for Christmas to travel, the first question you should have asked was “when are you departing and how many days before that will you be here?”
I’d been up past midnight trying to find a flight that would get me to you. Christmas was the same deal because of the snow. How about a little faith? You are first on the list… nothing else.
The prompt was “outside a shop in China Town, San Francisco” :
Fresh crisp liquid I savor
As an elegant pearl onion works its way
Through crushed ice
To a pinnacle, yes, at the bottom of the glass
Crystal frosted etched design
Like my grandfather used to make
That brought a tear to my eye
Way back when
Another with broken icebergs
As a second pearl rests
I drink and am awakened
I absorb flavors deep
And exhale heady refreshness
The world sparkles
A pitchfork swizzle, I spear my jewel prize
And I imagine years past
Straight skirts and suits
A ceiling fan hums
Of all the gin joints
I hear in my mind
But it was only a movie
Cold steam in my eyes
We’ll always have Martini
Drink deep, I imbibe
She’d pat the piglet
Hoping they wouldn’t but they did.
Pit readied, coals perfect
Into the pot it was placed after slitting it’s throat
Of course it was skinned and intestines removed
Into the pot it was put
(A better way to say?)
Delicious they said
Meat so tender it’s true
But she wouldn’t eat
Not one bite
She could not
“What we get from the store doesn’t bother you”
But being the point
The wound now too new
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is:
She’d done it. Bought the high-end stuff no turning back. With the lemon wedged and salt at the ready, she opened the box, removed the wrapper around the cap and broke the seal. “Seal, angels of death, Armageddon, humph…”
Using care she aligned crystals along the purlicue, admiring the curved precision she filled the shooter with the other hand and breathed it in. The scent was overpowering as she teased salt to coat her tongue, filled her mouth with liquid biting down on a wedge as she swallowed.
Eyes closed, she fell back into cushions and exhaled.
The prompt this week is:
…the scent was overpowering…
Sphfffstspt! The automatic air freshener spat its mist. She jumped raising her eyes in annoyance for forgetting one more time what the sound was. No one was standing there; it wasn’t an animal, no long lost Boa or anything like that. She’d bought the batteries herself so it’d work again envisioning the fragrance would lend a heady aura throughout the apartment. More often than not if she opened her mouth to eat when the timer released there was musky aftertaste, not a very good seasoning. Meh.
“Why would the last tenants hang that thing in the kitchen? Didn’t they cook?”
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