birthday surprise

i had an idea for a birthday surprise gift. it was complicated but once i got my head wrapped around it, i got busy, all wrapped up in it. but keeping it under wraps. and now finally i was wrapping it with birthday wrap. humming some rap. wrapping it up for the woman who could wrap me around her little finger. it was a wrap … then i heard a rap at the door. it was her. doubts. what if she hated it. was not rapt. thought i was dumb, which would be a bad rap, a bum rap. what if she rapped my knuckles. geez, women are riddles wrapped in mysteries wrapped in enigmas.

for Stream of Consciousness Saturday

Blue Chairs

I’m looking at twenty upholstered blue chairs in a library, arranged four-each around five low square tables. Periodicals line the walls on each side of them.

A quiet Friday morning. Four of the chairs are inhabited by homeless patrons, sleeping or reading, two with earphones. Six more chairs by elderly, retired, well-to-do town residents.

There is a certain amount of coughing and stertorous breathing. Otherwise, silence.

Teenagers and tutors have their own areas, but in any case, school is in session elsewhere.

One fellow is out on the patio, reading in the sun.

Distant sounds of toddlers reading hour.

Staff preparations for a book sale tomorrow.

Timeless.

for Stream of Consciousness Saturday

Going To Sea

Walter leaned way over the table.

“Sign me up!” he said, his words weighted with emotion.

“How much do you weigh?” the recruiter asked.

“Not enough to weigh you down. Come on, I want to be in uniform when you weigh anchor.”

“So what do you weigh in at? You look like you weigh a ton. That can weigh against you. Be honest. Weigh your words. I’ll weigh my decision accordingly.”

“Look, believe it or not, I’m on a whey diet.”

“That weighs in your favor. Our cook is always looking for a way to get rid of his excess whey. He serves a lot of curds to the crew.”

“Way out. Any way you slice it, I want in. That’s just the way it is. That’s the way the wind blows. Get me in any which way. And by the way, by way of explanation, I was born this way.”

“Son, you’re doing this interview the hard way but I’m going to give way and let you get your way because we’re short a man and we’re about to get under way and we’re going in harm’s way.”

“Wait, what?”

for Stream of Consciousness Saturday

haiku

lions couch their requests
in roars that we hope are not
the last thing you hear

for Stream of Consciousness Saturday

hiaku

in the woods old ways
persist but man’s way waits when
animals leave it

for Stream of Consciousness Saturday

haiku

unexpected drug
life unreels as usual
i watch from outside

for SoCS

haiku

a world of lifeforms
then the human species joins
can all coexist?

for SoCS

haiku

where the saw-whet calls
too-too-too in moonless night
my death predicted

for Stream of Consciousness  Saturday

SoCS, Friday, 5/18/18

clearcut mountaintop

loggers gone; forest gone too

the view now empty

 

For Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Linda G. Hill

so far

when you’re old and talking about life, “so far” can come to mean “that’s about it.”

not to belabor the obvious, but when you’re young, “so far” means the past is prelude and anything is possible in the future. the future and its promise gets whittled away as time goes on.

when you’re old, “so far, so good” can also gather some finality to it. the doctor says, well, you’ve had a good run, eighty years isn’t bad. it isn’t bad but why am i not consoled? who cares about the time passed? what about tomorrow?

i’m doing ok, so far.

 

For SoCS