Our parents are the weight in the keel of our life, slowing us down we shout, keeping you steady they say. When they are gone we can swerve, we skim faster on the tips of the waves; we can tilt our masts and fall. We hope they have left lifeboats.
Moments
My job (1)
My job? I wipe the dirt from the faces of angels. Sometimes the beauty is lessened and I cry.
The headless man
The headless man strides down the road towards me. Sure, decided steps. Then the streetlight behind him shines through his umbrella. Relief.
Feet slide together
Feet slide together then slip slowly, unstoppably, apart – the fence stops his fall. Families in red gloves, blue scarves, skate past him as he clings to the rough-painted wood. She sees him clinging there, still slipping, and feels a warm rush: “I’ll skate with you”. She takes his elbow.
Scratch and lick
Boy meets girl and girl meets boy.
Honey, perhaps undercut with a lemon premonition.
Girl and boy turn and walk away.
An aftertaste of old saccharine.
Boy and girl, alone; girl and boy.
Thick curtain odour of whisky, rum and yesterday’s cigarettes.
Girl and boy catch glimpses across a crowded room.
Memories of rich red wine in glinting glasses.
Boy and girl leave crowded room, alone.
Eyestinging chilli till the morning light but no vinegar dream regrets.
Or perhaps, perhaps, a flavour.
Hot tub
In the hot tub at the gym, a charming older gentleman asked Jon if he liked cruising. It eventually turned out he meant on ships. Awkward.
Writing prompt: Caruso
“Hey Maestro!”
“What?”
“You’re late with your payments again.”
“Yeah, guys, I know. These phonographs are starting to sell like the hot cakes but I’ve just been so unlucky on the tables….”
“Yeah, right. Now, Maestro, this is nothing personal. But money is money and a debt is a debt. And Signor F is getting just the little bit impatient. Now, you know he would never hurt such a beautiful voice, the voice of the angels, you know that right? But what about your family? What about your wife’s little cagnolino, her little puppy? You wouldn’t want anything to happ-”
“OK. Stop it right there. What is this? A prompt with an Italian and suddenly we’re all Padrino? What next? Spaghetti and meatballs and sleeping with the fishes?”
The writer lifted her fingers from the keyboard and the voice in her head fell silent. Every time. Every time she thought she could get started again, the writer’s block descended.
A theist and an agnostic look at the sky
– It’s called a starry sky, that’s what it’s called.
– I know, but it should be a starred sky, not starry. They didn’t get there on their own, did they? Someone – something – put them there.
– Look, one’s falling, shooting across the sky, make a wish, make a wish.
– So someone’s pushed it. Imagine it, a huge finger with a huge manicured fingernail flicking the star so it skeets across the sky.
– Aye, that’s maybe. But now look at me, look at me wide eyed, so I can see where the stars have fallen to, see the diamond light in your black black eyes.
– Babe?
– Yes, babe?
– The sky’s enough, isn’t it?
– Yes. Yes, the sky’s enough.
An amber weather warning
I told Amber there was an amber weather warning. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. She looked past me, out of the window, and said ‘Mao’.
The clown’s smile
The clown’s smile floated in the darkness through the half-open door. Gavin knew it was not real. No cold fingers would stroke his neck and close on his collar. It could not be real. He closed his eyes and got ready to run. In the darkness the toothy smile widened.
