Saturday, May 27, 2023
Breakfast Pest
No minikin that! On my table a thin imp, barely an inch, stood barbecuing a midge. He’d kindled some twigs, held the midge on a long sliver.
“How did you light that fire?”
“I’m an imp. Fire’s a given.”
“You’ll singe my wood finish.”
“So try to dislodge me. See how it goes.”
A glint in his tiny lizard eyes.
I sighed. I rose and limped to the kitchen. Not for a stick, but to fix coffee.
Truth is, the last imp put a crimp in my hip.
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5 comments:
Genius and economic. Kinda like a Haiku and a cartoon all at once.
How I curse the fate that
Come on, Eric - give us an update on what you’re doing these days. Some small, teasing taste of future work; it would make us very happy!
Now that’s funny, that is. Why don’t you send us an email, you cad?
An email?! I once had your email address scribbled down on a piece of loose paper; somewhere in the margins.
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