Family Photo

Image Credit: M. R. M. :http://my.opera.com/

Every year it's always the same

"Never again!" I swear

Perhaps someone different but someone to blame

Why do I bother to care?

I just want to have a little memento

Of our happy family days

But taking the picture brings me such torment-oh!

It puts me right into a craze!

First the weather looks fine with the sun in the sky

Then suddenly it starts to rain

As soon as it clears and we've all gotten dry

The little one's shirt has a stain!

Then there's the wiggly, fidgety ones

The ones who will never sit still

As soon as one sits down, another one runs

These brats are a test of my will.

And you just must see the facial contortions

That I have to view through my lens

Silly behavior beyond all proportions

And two of them baring rear ends!

A nice family photo is all that I seek

A picture of those I hold dear

But all that I have is frustration and pique

Perhaps I'll have more luck next year!

submitted for Short Story Slam, Week 10, at Bluebell Books

Bon Voyage

Damn these stupid magnetic wrist bands! I should've known better than to trust my equilibrium to some product advertised on late night TV.  I should have just gone to the doctor and asked for the freakin' sea sickness pills before we left on this God forsaken cruise, but, no, I had to be all natural! No chemicals packed in my luggage! I was going to rid myself of toxins, eat healthy, exercise, meditate. The other passengers would whisper, "Who is that stunning woman? She seems to glow with positive energy!" as I walked the decks of the ship in my 100 percent cotton clothing.

Now, however, I'm glowing with the day old pea soupy green color from 3 days of sea sickness. I've rid my body not only of toxins but of every bite of food that I've managed to gag down, as it's all come retching right back up. I have had plenty of time to meditate as I lean my throbbing head over the ship's rail for my post-prandial hork. I've meditated on how much I despise the other passengers on this cruise who are happily throwing back fruity, overpriced umbrella drinks and taking photos of each other with their arms around the overworked crew. I've meditated on what method I will use to murder my ex-friend who recommended these less than useless wrist magnets.

I've also meditated on the distinct possibility that when we reach our first port, I will abscond rather than reboard. I will become an ex-pat, an islander. I will stand on the shore and watch the ships arrive and depart but never go with them. Right now, it sounds a lot better than another day of barfing!

submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam, Week 9, at Bluebell Books

For Rabbit

In a field of wheat I search for

you, my friend

You are a cagey creature

The minute I think

I have a grasp of you, you

disappear

only to emerge, the tip of your ear

waving from behind a stalk of wheat

saying, "Follow me!" or

"Don't. I don't much care."

I always follow

Like Alice's White Rabbit, I

follow you

and we play in your magical

strange

sad

funny

beautiful Wonderland; then

you slip away

and I learn how

to make some wonders myself

But don't you ever think

that I've forgotten you, my friend

I've come to this field of wheat

looking for that jaunty ear

waiting for you to

come home.

submitted for Bluebell Books, Short Story Slam, Week 8

Trust

Country Nights with Dog and Elephant by ManicD Daily at

 http://manicddaily.wordpress.com/page/3/

Sometimes we must let go and trust

Give someone else the lead

We'd rather not admit we must

Although we do concede

We can not always go alone

The roadway often bends

To see around the corners well

We must place trust in friends

For someone used to being in charge

The hardest part of all

Is letting someone else feel large

Without you feeling small

At times it seems the toughest deed

Is to admit we have a need.

submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam, Week 6,  at Bluebell Books

The Dirt

Image Credit: mnn.com

"...and then the Daddy's seed grows into a baby in the Mommy's tummy."
My mother was round as a Halloween pumpkin, pregnant with my little brother. I was three years old and demanding to know where this new baby was coming from. My parents, never ones to subscribe to the "Santa Claus and storks" mythologies of most childhoods, believed in giving me the facts, albeit presented in what they considered an age appropriate manner. I listened to my mother intently, trying to imagine the jigsaw puzzle-like implications of what she was proposing.
"Do you understand, honey? Do you have any questions?"
I thought about seeds. I thought about the garden I had helped plant and watched grow.
"Mom, where do they put the dirt?"
I think my parents revised their "where babies come from" talk a bit before presenting it to my little brother several years later.

submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam, Week 5 at Bluebell Books

Two Alleys

photo by Penny K. Sherman courtesy Bluebell Books

Life is good on Ego Alley*

Lazy days of heat and haze

Sipping margaritas topside

From the Captain's lounge chair

Watching the tourists

Watching you

In your cleverly named boat

While in another alley 

Just a few blocks away

The tourists avert their gaze

While a small boy plays

With a beer can and a stick.

In a puddle of rainwater and piss

He guides his boat around cigarette butts

And a used tampon applicator

Until his mother yells for him to quit.

*"Ego Alley" is a small, narrow waterway that leads to the heart of the city of Annapolis, MD.  It got it's name from the endless parade of boats and yachts that traverse this dead end canal, usually only to see and be seen.

submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam, Bluebell Books

Best Served Cold

photo by Melissa R. Bickel

"...severe thunderstorms in the listening area with damaging winds and flooding. As of 3:00 Eastern Standard Time, a hurricane has formed off the coast and is approaching land at approximately 40 miles per hour. Listeners are advised to stay off of the roadways and to seek shelter indoors..."

Shannan pressed down on the accelerator pedal and cursed as her Civic hydroplaned in response. She wanted to get home before her ice cream melted and her reduced price hamburger grew a new life form.

"No wonder the grocery store was such a zoo!" she thought. "Leave it to me to run out of toilet paper when they're predicting a hurricane!"

Shannan squinted through the car window, trying to stay in her lane. The rain streaming down and the static of her car radio combined to form one incomprehensible din in her ears. Route 39 was eerily empty. Did everyone actually listen to the warning to stay off the roads?

Up ahead Shannan saw what appeared to be a person by the side of the road. She slowed her car as she approached to see what other unfortunate soul was stuck out in this mess.

"Holy crap!" Pacing in the downpour with her cell phone in one hand and gesticulating wildly with the other at an obviously flat tire on her Lexus, was Shannan's mother-in-law. Even with the rain blurring her view, Shannan could see that she was looking even more put-out than usual. Shannan reflexively slowed her car even more and put her finger on the door button to unlock it. Then, she didn't. She removed her hand from the door lock, put her pinky finger to her mouth, and chewed on her nail. Then she smiled. And she drove away, whispering, "Good luck." Her mother-in-law never even saw her.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. It's also pretty good wet.


submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam at Bluebell Books