Last Night was Brutal

Last night was brutal.

We fought like Godzilla vs Kong.

Boxers slugging it out in the ring.

Cage fighters gouging and kicking.

Oooops. Is that an eyeball in my hand?

We were earnest. Furious.

Mean as gorillas. Cut-throat as pirates.

In the end we smoked the peacepipe.

What was that all about? she asked..

I don’t know, I said.

Look, next time, can we please agree what we’re fighting about?

  • pic courtesy of maxsportstz.blogspot.com

The Man in the Box has a Few Things to Say

He had a rough time as a kid, a tough time as a teenager, and did hard time as an adult in maximum-security, an ideal upbringing for a Coffin Confessor, a calling Bill Edgar, the author, pioneered.  

You need balls to be a coffin confessor, a job, if you’ll excuse the pun,  he fell into. A coffin confessor gatecrashes funerals, and reads out what his client, the deceased, discloses to him on their deathbed. He is entrusted to let the mourners know the bitter truth that has been largely hidden from them all this time. There is always at least one of the mourners who receives a right royal drubbing, a public flogging by the lash of truth.

He3re is his spiel: “Excuse me, but I’m going to need you to sit down, shut up or fuck off. The man in the box has a few things to say,”

You gotta read this book. Every chapter is rivetting.

Flinch

They get up, rumpled, a little worse for wear. take a look, hold each other, flinch.

All that clutter.

The humble vessels and instruments of the night before, that wrought such alchemy on a lowly leg of lamb, packaged parsnips, carrots; followed by a serve of dried apricots and flaked almonds, soaked in brandy, all generously washed down with an aged red. Or was it two?

What a night!

But now …. the domestic terror in the sink.

Even alchemists have to clean up their mess.

pic courtesy of Pinterest  by John Currin

End of the Line

I’m sorry, he said, shrugging his shoulders. There’s nothing I can do.

But surely …

I’ve never seen it this bad. Not in all my years. They’ve always responded to treatment. I threw everything at it.

But you’re ….

I know. We’re the paramedics of the trade but we can’t perform miracles.

We bowed our heads.

Then I’ll see you to the door. Thanks for trying,

And off he drove in his clean white van, the firm’s logo on the side.

Well, I said, it looks like the end of the line for you. Sorry, old mate. You heard the man. You have to go. Time for an upgrade. A new laptop.

The Silver Hammer

What’s that? Under the driver’s seat?

A silver hammer.

Maxwell’s?

Lol, No, mine.

What for? In case of a car jacking?

No. In case I’m caught. In a flood.

Pardon?

You remember the floods in NSW a few weeks back when a car tried to drive through a flooded road and the car sank, the driver died? You know what happened?

Not really.

The electronics failed. The driver couldn’t open a door or window to escape. Suffocated. Now if he had a hammer.

Gives a new meaning to the old song, doesn’t it?

What song?

‘If I Had a Hammer’.

The Great Magician

The great magician

lived behind us in the eighties

walked around in his top hat and cloak

practising

making rabbits disappear.

Once he poked his head

over the fence and asked

had we seen one of his rabbits?

I said I hadn’t.

But later

I discovered

by the cabbage patch

a hole in the fence,

where a rabbit had scraped under

and bits of fur in the yard.

We had a dog back then.

He was a bit of a magician himself.

He could make a rabbit disappear too.

Am I the Only One who Does This?

( this was just published on ‘The Drabble’: thought you’d like a read too 🙂 ]

I’ve been clearing up the house

sweeping up the crumbs.

It’s a monthly ritual.

Am I mad? or just dumb?.





I clear away the cobwebs

sweep up the dust

collect and bin the rubbish.

Somebody must.





They won’t wash themselves,

mum used to say.

The sink’s full of them

so I put them away.





Make the place spotless

so it shines & it hums.

& I better get a move on

before the cleaner comes.

He Laughed Loudly

He laughed loudly.

A door closed behind him.

He laughed a little more loudly still.

Another door closed behind him. Slammed!

He continued. He chortled. He guffawed. He jeered.

A text message came through.

“Will you STOP laughing, please? You’re annoying me.”

No, he said to himself. No. It’s my evening and I’ll laugh if I want to.

And he laughed even more loudly.

The walls themselves laughed loudly too, splitting their sides.

The cross-eyed cat doubled up with laughter.

A door opened quietly behind him.

The man was too busy laughing to notice.

The cord tightened around his throat.

This was no laughing matter.

The Scarlet Pimpernel of Cats

She was the scarlet pimpernel of cats. A thunderstorm was looming and the sun had already set and she had not made her way inside though it was her dinnertime and she was a stickler about that. Hail was forecast. Go outside and rattle the tin, I was ordered. I’m having an early night. Fair enough. A cold will do that to you.

On and off for the next four hours I did as I was instructed, rattling the biscuit tin, calling her name. Only the hail answered. If she was on the roof again, she’d be a soggy, sorry cat. Occasionally between downpours I’d check the road with the torch on my iPhone for something flat, gingery and blood-stained. Fortunately there was nothing. The Scarlet Pimpernel of cats was indeed elusive.

Around eleven I packed it in and slumped asleep.

Did you find her? came a text message next door. I’m scared.

No, I messaged. ZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

In the morning preparing two bowls of cereal I opened the pantry door and out popped a cat! She headed straight for her bowl, wofing down the food from last night. I checked the pantry for tell-tale signs of toilet distress but there were none. How did you go for so long without doing a wee? I asked.

I crossed my legs, she said.  

That Note from the Neighbours

We got a note from the young couple across the road

telling [ warning? ] us that they were holding a birthday bash

that day starting at two and going past midnight.

And, no, we were not invited.

We braced ourselves for the worst.

A few cars appeared around six, the last time we checked.

We did hear a car door slam at nine

& some intemperate laughter on the front porch a little later

& that was it.

No hordes of SUV’s. no gate crashers, no raised voices,

no loud thumping music.& no need to call the number

I set aside for the cops.

The Bacchanalia clearly hadn’t arrived.

We went to bed a little disappointed.