26 March, 2010

actually nary

If you think reels don't deal fairly
Let's have a look at nary.

Pink and green and red and brown
Like the blank of nothing
Nary has a single frown
Looking with straight focus.

Now reels on the other hand
Plural their tapes like salt shakers
All across the soaken land.

What is fair to a latter rose?
What is fair to battered toes?

Cancel out all the multiples
Drawing out the special ones
This is what nary ripples.

Long do reels have to peal
Their everlasting tape
Of simile
And appeal
While nary ignores the happily
And gives the simpler feel.

Dealing fair?
Who feeds the bear?
Dealing fair?
Who meets the care?


11 March, 2010

twinkle 3

Lina was so patient. Fleur wiped up a slippery oil spill as she thought about it. In spite of Tobe's forgetfulness, pre-occupation and abrupt manner, Lina still stuck by him. Why was uncomprehendable. He was so selfish, but Fleur had to admit, he did have his moments.

A sound startled her and she jumped back, tipping over a jar of nails. It crashed to the ground.

09 March, 2010

twinkle 2

Flishing, sparkling, flashing, twinkling. The dancing light drew her.

Stepping into the shed with a backward glance to make sure Tobe wasn't returning because he'd forgotten something again, Fleur stepped cautiously toward the light switch. Why Tobe had chosen to place it in such an awkward position was beyond her. To get to the light switch, one had to duck under a heavy pipe, climb a step onto a table and reach a full arm's length behind the heavy metal panel at about eye height, ignoring all the spiders potentially hidden in the small space and balancing precariously over the edge of a rail. If you fell, you would almost certainly break more than one bone, and that was excluding the neck.

The yellow lights flickered on and took their time warming up to a brighter white. Fleur stared around at the mess Tobe had left behind again. Everyday. Everyday, she would clean up after him and every morning when he returned, he wouldn't notice a thing. Tobe was a weird one. Whatever this great contraption that looked like a junk sculpture was meant to do was probably nothing to do with recycling junk.

Shrugging her shoulders up hard and then letting them relax with a sigh, Fleur began picking up discarded tools and replacing them in their long ago designated places. Greasy rags were folded and laid over a pipe in order and little bits and pieces that were scattered around on the oil-stained concrete were left in little plastic margarine containers with fading flowers smudged over with dirt and age.

08 March, 2010

twinkle 1

So the stars they dimmed and sparked when the items were applied. The gas pressure rose, bordering on red. Tobe poked and prodded at the nearest gauge, hopping from one foot to the other. Today was not a good day to be blown up. Not when he was about to receive the biggest paycheck he could imagine. If. If he could only get it to work right.

The shadows crept across the floor and it was only when the automatic lights flickered on did he realise exactly how late it was. So. He wouldn't be getting his paycheck today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, but he said that every night. Tobe kicked at the foot of the stubborn contraption and checked his watch. Lina would be expecting him now. Like usual, he was late for dinner.

Slipping on his coat, Tobe stomped his way out of the shed, muttering equations to himself. The main problem had been the small safety margin left when the stokes were inserted.

Fleur watched him recede beneath the trees and then peeked inside the creaky door. The glow of the street lamp reflected off something. It twinkled.