Updated from 2011-2021 with original writing and musings. Entries included "Ten Word Tales" (Every day), "Poet Corner" (Every weeknight), "Freeform Fridays" (Every Friday), and "Storyteller" (Every Saturday).
Tonight's Poet Corner: Later, Lee
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Later, Lee
Good riddance to bad rubbish, especially if it's in a gray and brass uniform, and also especially if it's a man who, matter of fact, sucked as a general.
Here we have the madman, standing at the podium. He screams threats and obscenities, and the meager audience cheers. They wear red hats and stamp their feet and gesture to the wind, taunting the spirits and daring them to change the course of time, to change the course of history, which never, ever ends. The madman is strutting. He's grinning at his prize. In perhaps a year, the world will change - the colors will all dim.
Why were the statues going white, and why was the rain cascading in sheets? I tried to find solace by the window, but the world outside had become nothing but glass. Blankets of water blurred the semblance of life that I stretched my mind to detect. Near me, my lover was asleep on the divan with wine pooling across her lap. Her curls lay in wet swaths around the warm nape of her neck. The statues would crumble in due time. The deluge was impending. We both would drown.
I thought I had been properly trained for this. I thought that all the years I spent as a conflict mediator would pay off. I thought I had the experience and mental capacity to handle this particular quarrel. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. I knew I was wrong as soon as I entered the room. The people facing off: Two older women, both with very gray hair. Both short, frumpy, wearing pinks and purples. And they were wielding switchblades.
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