# WrittenRiver Darling…Remember Lot’s Wife

Note to accompany my laptop when I die.

Darling…

Before
you
meddle
with
my
past
secrets….

Before
you
interfere
with
something
which
is
none
of
your
concern….

Think
about
the
consequences
if
you
do
when
you
too
reach
the
other
side….

Advertisements

The Black Fly and the Green Glass

I

stopped.

 

At

my

favourite

riverside

stop.

 

Lit

a

cig

and

spied

a black fly

 

iridescent

green backed

with

fragile

gossamer wings

 

(a pretty little thing)

 

inspecting

a chunk of

green glass.

 

He

or she

or it

 

(I’m not a sexpert on fly sexing)

 

went over

and

around

and

up

and

down

the

glassy

knoll.

 

Then

 

plainly bored

 

flew off

Zzzzzzzzzz blipo zzzzzzzzzz

skittity buzz

to hunt

for

multiflavorous

multicoloured

poo.

Nans and floor wardrobes

No matter how often my daughter’s room is tidied up, it reverts to ‘floor wardrobe’ status inside twenty minutes of being reoccupied.

This isn’t often an issue of any importance as, thankfully, the room has a fully functioning door which, when deployed, serves as a barrier between the normality of the ordered adult world on the outside and the chaos of the wannabe adult world on the inside.

However. It does become an issue when grandparents visit.

And they did. Recently. Unannounced.

My mother strode into the house armed with cheery “Hellos” and lemon drizzle cake. (Home baked, of course)
My father followed meekly behind, like a small hunched Duke of Edinburgh (but without the offhand rhetoric and Royal status)

“This is nice” said my mother, pointing at a Kandinsky print on the hall wall. “Nice colours. What’s it meant to be?”

“It’s anWassily_Kandinsky,_Aquarell_6,_Kunstdrucke_auf_japanpapier abstract” I said.

“Is it really? Very nice. Take my coat dear.” She said. I duly obliged.

Then a bedroom door opened and a sleepy head peered around it.

“Hi Nan!”

“Well if it isn’t my favourite granddaughter!” exclaimed my mother.

“Come out and see your Nan” I said.

“Leave the child where she is” said my mother “I’ll go into her room. Young people like their own space”

‘And mess’ I thought.

My wife looked at me with a look that said “Oh fu…………ck!”

And so after my mother’s visit to the ‘bedroom from hell’ we were summarily lectured, my wife and I, on the virtues of keeping a clean and tidy house. We were told off like naughty children for allowing our daughter to live in a “decadent environment of dirty clothes and rubbish!”

Suitably admonished over tea and slices of lemon drizzle cake (my father didn’t contribute to the ear bashing, choosing to smile and nod in agreement like a trained stooge) we small talked about jobs and boats and politics and such like.

After what seemed like an age, or several ages, coats were beckoned for and retrieved and with a whisper and a hug my mother covertly slipped my daughter a crisp £50 note. “Buy yourself something nice dear” she said. And they smiled and kissed and hugged.

“Bye Mum”
“Bye Dear”

“Bye Dad”
“Bye Son”

“Gin darling?” I asked my wife.
“Best make it a large one” she said.

“I’ll have that £50 note” I said to my daughter. “Can’t have you spending it all at once now can we?”

Monday Lunchtime Treat

Unaware
of
my
lunchtime
stare

she
makes
love
to
her
pizza
slices

French
kissing
pepperoni

nibbling
tomato
topping

teasing
filled
crust
with
her
tongue

her legs
crossed

soft
white milk
thighs

a silky ocean

flooding
my
eyes

My
lunchtime
pulse
quickens
as
I
eat

while
eating
her
with
my
eyes

my
Monday
lunchtime
treat

Wasp Porn

I found
a wasps’ nest

A slick of wasps,
an
erratic
line
of
buzz,

wasps diving
underground

out of sight
and
out of mind.

I lay on my belly,
espying
the frantic activity
on this wasp
super highway
as
workers
with bellies
full of honey
flew home
to mummy,

their
yellow and black
Queen.

Then.

The wasps espied me!

My beard
like a fatal
attraction,
a nest site perhaps?
Or just
a beardy
distraction?

I hastily retreated
brushing, dislodging
and
wondered what
was going on
inside
their den.

And inside their tiny minds.

Perhaps
they go
miles underground
to a vast
Middle Earth chamber?

Perhaps
wasps are
met by smart
wasp lift attendants
in a splendid
entrance lobby

(yellow and black decor, of course)

and

v
e
r
t
i
c
a
l
l
y

transported
to the
Queen’s boudoir.

Perhaps
there’s a wasp Nando’s
with wifi
and bowling?

Perhaps
a skin flick cinema
with wasp porn
in ultra HD
and surround sound?

Any hoo.

I was getting bored.

Bored with the buzzing
and frantic
wasp antics.

Bored
with
my
waspy
conjecture.

Time to leave them
in peace
before
they lose
their fickle
buzzy
patience
and use me
for
stinging
practice.