So, while it's still not too long here the whole poem to date plus today's verse. I'm glad the volunteering went well, and 10 children sounds easier to handle than 30, definitely. You can keep my conscript-and-crusade idea as your back-up plan though. I'm on a course all next week, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to continue the Inspectral story or not. If not and there's anything you'd like to see revisted for a week, let me know!
Respite The machines breathe for him: Air hisses through narrow tubes That snake around the bed like knotweed And keep his chest moving.
On the bedside table are flowers, Cards, a bottle of lemonade and A handwritten note signed by Emma B. Nurses check on him constantly.
Outside his window, snow falls Lightly coating mural-painted walls And melting on the hot engines of Red-and-blue lighted police cars.
The Chinese New Year starts tonight: The Year of the Rat, But he already knew that. Soft footsteps Tiptoe in and he opens his eyes.
“Do you remember the party we threw when Voyager 2 Left the Solar system?” Fifteen months ago. He nods, and she smiles. “They said you might have amnesia.” Smile falters. “That might have been easier.”
Her fingers touch his forehead like summer rain on grass. “Mr. Potatoes,” she says, “is an ass.” Spud he thinks, and though he tries to speak It’s that or breathe and the plastic tube won’t move.
“Kittering’s Vigil,” she says and he blinks twice for yes. It overlooks the whole town; look up and it’s there Competing with air for ‘most ubiquitous thing’. “He pushed you off.” Blink. Blink.
“Looks like the tip-off was right: Our agricultural Knight has feet of clay.” Her voice is tender but he still tries to laugh At the image of Spud, knee-deep in mud, clad in mail.
Her anger is palpable, prowling the room like a cat, Peering into the corners, staring at shadows, seeing red. Then leaping up on the bed and seeing the occupant, Seeing Red a little bit broken but not dead. Yet.
“We can’t afford to wait,” she says. He knows she hates delays but, well, moving is hard. “If we give Spud a respite….” She shakes her head. “Tomorrow night, I’ll go his office myself.”
2 comments:
So, while it's still not too long here the whole poem to date plus today's verse.
I'm glad the volunteering went well, and 10 children sounds easier to handle than 30, definitely. You can keep my conscript-and-crusade idea as your back-up plan though. I'm on a course all next week, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to continue the Inspectral story or not. If not and there's anything you'd like to see revisted for a week, let me know!
Respite
The machines breathe for him:
Air hisses through narrow tubes
That snake around the bed like knotweed
And keep his chest moving.
On the bedside table are flowers,
Cards, a bottle of lemonade and
A handwritten note signed by Emma B.
Nurses check on him constantly.
Outside his window, snow falls
Lightly coating mural-painted walls
And melting on the hot engines of
Red-and-blue lighted police cars.
The Chinese New Year starts tonight:
The Year of the Rat,
But he already knew that. Soft footsteps
Tiptoe in and he opens his eyes.
“Do you remember the party we threw when Voyager 2
Left the Solar system?” Fifteen months ago.
He nods, and she smiles. “They said you might have amnesia.”
Smile falters. “That might have been easier.”
Her fingers touch his forehead like summer rain on grass.
“Mr. Potatoes,” she says, “is an ass.”
Spud he thinks, and though he tries to speak
It’s that or breathe and the plastic tube won’t move.
“Kittering’s Vigil,” she says and he blinks twice for yes.
It overlooks the whole town; look up and it’s there
Competing with air for ‘most ubiquitous thing’.
“He pushed you off.” Blink. Blink.
“Looks like the tip-off was right:
Our agricultural Knight has feet of clay.”
Her voice is tender but he still tries to laugh
At the image of Spud, knee-deep in mud, clad in mail.
Her anger is palpable, prowling the room like a cat,
Peering into the corners, staring at shadows, seeing red.
Then leaping up on the bed and seeing the occupant,
Seeing Red a little bit broken but not dead. Yet.
“We can’t afford to wait,” she says.
He knows she hates delays but, well, moving is hard.
“If we give Spud a respite….” She shakes her head.
“Tomorrow night, I’ll go his office myself.”
Greg - ah, we'll see how the week goes. I would not, however, be opposed to seeing some How the Best was Won appearances...
And thank you for putting this all together like this. You've done remarkably well with all the prompts in telling a cohesive, poetic tale.
And, well, that's the Emma B I remember :)
Also: the Red I remember, with the 'moving is hard'.
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