The Sunday kick about

Here! Here!
To me! Me!
Go on, chase it down!
Oh, at least undo your coat, man!
But it’s pouring!
To you! You!
I didn’t see it!
Well, you shouldn’t be smoking….
And the over-50s Sunday kickabout continues as it always does, until – GOOOAAALLL! He aeroplanes away, raincoat over head.

I dive from the rocks of my now

I dive from the rocks of my now into the sea of my memories. Those I am so desperate to hold twist silver as lightning away from my grasp. Lungs aching, fists empty, I float back to the surface, my tears mixed with the salt. Again from sharp rocks I look down and I see them, peacefully swirling and calm. Again from the rocks I dive into my memories. This time I am so sure.

First published on paragraphplanet.com 22 July 2015 

Old dreams

I piled my old, dried-out dreams into the bottom of the bare wooden boat. With the strength in my shoulders I heaved it out towards the horizon and, almost casually, dropped in a match. The flames flickered higher as the boat flared into the night, dreams becoming stars, each for their moment.