It hit the spot

I shot an arrow in the air. It came to earth I knew not where, until Mr. Humphrey cried out.

It hit that spot on his left ham that we had made such fun of at the nude beach (from behind him since it was on his behind).

I should not have shot that arrow up in the air like that. It had to come down somewhere unless it hit a bird, which would have been worse. I was the only one holding a bow, a dead giveaway.

“You, Fred,” Mr. Humphry said. “I’ll whip you now with your own arrow. Lucky for you it was no more than a glancing blow.”

Not lucky for me. If the arrow had penetrated his ham, he could not whip me with it. The barb would have secured itself in the wound.

“May I fortify myself, Sir,” I said.

“Do so and approach,” he said.

I took a long draught of the strong stuff, against the pain to come. It hit the spot.

I’ve lost my home of 20 years

It started out as a box.

The former tenant, a dishwasher, had vacated, and I moved in.

This was in the trash-bestrewn lot behind Moe’s Used Appliances. I was living in a canvas pup-tent bag at the time. To reside in an actual box was heaven, plus I had the lot to myself, not counting the vermin.

Later, I stole tape to add to the box a large carton emptied of its frozen turkeys. I’m not proud of that crime. Later I replaced the tape with staples. This didn’t absolve me of the original theft, but I felt better not staring at the tape all the time. I stole a stapler to do this.

By the time the rains and then the snow came, I had my home waterproofed with a tarp I borrowed.  Time passed in a blur. It’s like that when you get situated securely in life, right? Your kids, or in my case, rats, are born. They grow up and leave home. You put in your time as a member of society, in my case begging in front of the butcher shop. Next thing you know, you’re older.

I’m not as sharp as I was but I’m still game. I took a wrong turn somewhere but I’ll figure it out. The town has grown but it’s still my town. My home is out there somewhere. If I keep looking, I’ll find it.

Emotional Support Animals

The peacock on the plane was one. The gerbil that came to a sad end was another.

Is marriage “emotional support”? This fellow married his support.

My support comes from the pig, the cow, the lamb, the chicken, and at Thanksgiving and Christmas, the turkey.

Growing up in the hills, we relied upon the rabbit and the squirrel. And the egg.

My wife was born in a coastal village, Biei-cho (美瑛町). She prefers the squid, the octopus, and the fugu.

My cat is supported by the horse and the mockingbird.

My children protest this use of animals! They are supported by the weed.

Haiku Challenge: Press & Touch

suitors press forward
the wriggling prize awaits them
only one can touch

 

RonovanWrites