Shopping Talk

John D. Robinson

“Have you any plans for tonight, Sir?” asked the false grinning supermarket cashier with an ache of boredom in his teenager tone.

“Yeah,” I said, “I have my usual plans.”

“Anything interesting?” he asked blankly, scanning a bottle of wine.

“Well,” I said, “When I get home, I’ll take some drugs, prescribed and non-prescribed drugs, and I’ll work on some ink brush paintings and later in the evening I’ll drink wine and scribble down some words of poesy and eat some good food and at some point, I’ll need to sleep.” I leant forward and gave him the cash.

He looked back, puzzled, not knowing how he should look back and react and he said after a thought or two “Sounds good to me.”

“It is,” I told him.

He nodded his head slowly and smiled, a natural smile, business was done.

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The Y

Robert Ferns

I used to think that Town Mouse, Country Mouse
Was a story of trying – or so my Dad
Had me believe: ‘Town mice stop there,’ he said,
Pointing to a lay-by on the crest of
A hill: ‘Country Mice get to the Y.’
As I clambered to reach the horizon
On his wheel. He powered that golden bike.

My Dad taught me a good lesson that day:
Stick to a wheel and hang on.
Now he struggles to keep up with me
On hills with no lay-bys, no crossroads.
As he fell off in the sun I peeked
Out from under his shadow, frightened
Of what I saw. I’ll scurry home tonight
Hiding from responsibility;
Content with all I’ve got, scared of what lies ahead.

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Untitled

addison

Water cools and settles like earth,
heats and rises with fire,
floats as air,
wears away mountains,
freezes worlds.
Low and penetrating,
a rain drop
drop
spans the gap
splat
of parts of the whole falling.

 

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