Monday June 6th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the dance.

Took Max to the dentist this morning for his first cleaning. He did awesome, way better than I expected. Super proud of how well he handled it.

Spent the rest of the day trying to avoid the worst of the heat. Had some success, but 37 degrees in early June is not easy to deal with.

Getting up early tomorrow morning to try to pick as many strawberries as possible before it gets too hot again. Wish me luck.


You ask what he's doing
And he says Dancing.
But you can't help wonder
If it's the advancing
Of some unknown disease
That controls his arms,
So you watch with unease
And pray for minimal harm
To us all.


Greg said...

Good luck with the strawberries! And it sounds like you have more success with Max at the dentist than the hairdressers... shouldn't that be the other way around?
Hah, I think I know people who dance the way your poem relates :) The rhymes are really good in there, and the way the poem creeps forward makes it easy to picture the scene. Great work!

Again, having to post twice due to length -- sorry. I hope you like it, it continues yesterday's.

Greg said...

The dance
Music was playing and the smell of cinnamon and cardamom filled the air. Lights had been arrayed in the branches of the trees and artfully submerged in the fountain, and the bodies of the electrocuted fish dredged out and sent down to the kitchens. People stood around in small groups, laughter breaking out here and there, holding glasses of wine imported from Sleeping Beauty’s kingdom and plates with delicacies imported from The Wall where Humpty Dumpty ruled. Eggs featured surprisingly frequently amongst the food.
Against one wall leaned McArthur, the Kingdom’s private detective. There were rumours that he worked for the Prince, but there were also rumours that he’d been responsible for the death of the little match girl, that he kept three hounds with eyes of improbable size in kennels behind his hovel, and that he had a dating profile called TheTinSoldier. Where McArthur was concerned it was often better to believe nothing and everything, just in case.
“I’ve arrived!” Cinders announced herself, the butler caught staring open-mouthed at her dress which reflected light around her so violently that she appeared to be transfixed in a tesla coil. The room paused politely momentarily, and then everyone looked away and carried on being sociable with people they secretly detested. “I said, I’ve arrived!” Realising that she wasn’t making the impact that she desired Cinders turned around to go back out and come in again, but the Queen of Tarts had arrived now and his courtesans grabbed Cinders by the elbows and dropped her unceremoniously down the stairs.
“The Lady of the Night!” announced the butler, and there was a small smattering of applause. The Queen stroked his beard (a van dyke, naturally), bowed elegantly, and minced down the stairs stepping on Cinders’s hand as he did so. Cinders swore.
“Such a mouth on a young lady,” said an amused voice, and Cinders hauled herself to her feet and looked around. Prince Charming was stood at the foot of the stairs with a smile curled across his lips that suggested he wasn’t finding funny what he claimed to be. He held out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” he asked.
“No,” said Cinders. “You can marry me though.”
“I don’t think so,” said the Prince. “As you probably know, I have a blessing from my fairy godfather that makes me immortal for as long as there are no women living in my castle. If I married you, where would I put you?”
“Dressed like that? On the roof, as an antenna,” said the Queen of Tarts passing by. Cinders stamped her foot.
“You could try Humpty,” said the Prince. “I hear he’s single.”
“He’s an egg,” said Cinders as though was somehow important.
“Maybe you could get him to hatch? Are you sure you won’t dance? It’s the best offer you’re going to get from me. And where are your adorable step-sisters this evening? I was hoping Symphonia was going to sing for us.”
“I left them at home,” said Cinders. “I didn’t want them spoiling my chances.” Behind her the Queen of Tarts threw back his head and howled with laughter.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, pretty sure nothing about parenthood makes sense...

Oh dear. Poor Cinders is not getting what she expected. She is, however, getting precisely what she deserves...