He labours like a damp lawnmower farting because it can't stop. But this doesn't matter; after the petrol gasses have cleared the hay is short and we can roll in it. We are green again, from the grassy juices.
When we met, 15 years ago, I hung like a suspended key waiting for a piano to fall out of the sky. An impossibility, you say; but he landed straight on me. He bought me a beer and some crisps, and I punched his girlfriend. Then I punched his ex-girlfriend, and after that he and I were like a tangled tube unraveling an endless ball of string, no end, no hope or desire for disambiguation.
Now, like a sweet anniversary making tea for comfort, we are settled, rhythmic, symbiotic. I screw up my computer and he fixes it.
--Mother (Re)produces
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4 comments:
This has a lovely, poetic feel. (And that's no small accomplishment, considering that it starts out with a fart analogy.)
I can't help feeling that, in an off-kilter sort of way, this one actually works ... okay, the bad analogies are bad, but they do seem to convey something; a tone, or a mood, or something along those lines. (It's a lot better than my effort, anyway. Dammit.)
I liked this one, and agree with dana p that it is poetic. Nice work!
Meri
Thanks, everybody. I did my best. I do some of my best work with dodgy material ;o)
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