At the hole where he went in
Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin.
Hear what little Red-Eye saith:
``Nag, come up and dance with death!''
Eye to eye and head to head,
(Keep the measure, Nag.)
This shall end when one is dead;
(At thy pleasure, Nag.)
Turn for turn and twist for twist-
(Run and hide thee, Nag.)
Hah! The hooded Death has missed!
(Woe betide thee, Nag!)
I have forsaken my regular Starbucks for D'lish cafe in my quest of ever new experiences. I am running out of options and patience and suddenly the world ceases to beam with its customary lambent glow.
I had lunch with a friend who described in detail how she planned to murder her husband. It was gory and curiously satisfying. (You have to meet the husband in question to understand why it was curiously satisfying).
Then I came to sit by myself, with my cup of cappuccino, wondering whether I wanted to have another sandwich...I had a pasta salad for lunch and it was very nice, and I had a caramel slice for dessert and it was very nice, but still...
Watching these two little girls in bright yellow uniforms, tuck away this plate of spaghetti bolognaise, smothered in parmesan, makes me feel hungry.
All over again.
4 comments:
Your posts are always so poetic.
Um, the poetry here was actually by Rudyard Kipling from his mongoose story Rikki Tikki Tavi...but thanks Nessa...:)
No, not that part. I meant the part that is your post; the five paragraphs you wrote. They flow like poetry.
I agree with Nessa. You have a way of making it seem like it's all poetry - even when it isn't about much. I can't tell you what I like about this post - just that I do.
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