For today's challenge, Izy invites us to write a Document of Discussion, in which we "take memorable conversations with strangers, friends, family, etc. and memorialize them." This little oddity was a poem I wrote WAY back in 1979. I was 15, and wrote this after a conversation with my father about a book he had given me to read. I think it may have been Trout Fishing in America.
(Chomp. Chomp.)
Did you read the book I gave you last night?
Yeah.
(Chomp.)
What did you think of it?
What was the purpose of it?
(Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.)
Well?
What?
Why did he write it?
(Chomp. Chomp.)
People buy it.
(Interruption by a third party): You didn't answer her question.
What?
Why did he do it?
(Chomp.)
To write.
But why did he write that?
(Chomp. Chomp.)
It was contemporary, wasn't it?
Yeah. What did it prove?
(Chomp. Chomp.)
It didn't prove anything.
But what was the meaning of it?
(Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.)
It was weird, wasn't it?
Yeah.
(Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.)
Good pizza.
I liked it.
(Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.)
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Out of Standard With Izy, Document of Discussion
7 comments:
I used to love Richard Brautigan.
hiya: i found this to be highly creative and clever! I got a great sense of both the father and daughter and also of the pizza! Thanks so much for participating! and viva la
Oh, what fun, Ms Mouse. I've been thinking about my own father today, and about the books he wrote about the rivers of British Columbia, which inevitably included some fish stories. One of my brothers had emailed me a story of Dad's which appeared in a local publication 9 years before Dad died.
My brothers and I held many a conversation with Dad about fishing, about fishing books, about fish, and about cooking fish.
I love your contribution to Toads today.
K
teenagers... BUT I must admit, some of the stories I had to read for school garnered just about he same amount of enthusiasm. (my father NEVER would allowed me to chew that loudly :)
Very clever and so teenage scripted!
I felt like I was there~
Well Done...
;D
Margaret,
Actually it was my father who was eating the pizza! I wrote it ambiguously on purpose.
Conversations over pizza, father-daughter style.. you nailed it.
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