Midnight in Bangkok

image borrowed from Bing

Midnight in Bangkok

Midnight in Bangkok
Seedy steamy streets

Camouflaged doors
Where deals are done
Bargains struck

Head down
Quickly walk away
With your precious stash of hash
Tucked inside that tiny scarlet bag

Smoke it
Blow it
Get on with it
It's your life


You'll need that red umbrella
For rainy nights in Bangkok


Helen

Posted over on her site Poetry Matters
Listed as #17 over on Magpie Tales 80

Solitary Red Pole

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Solitary red pole
midst the brambles,
still intrigues us.

Forgotten, Broken, Set

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Forgotten, broken, set
adrift, this grave marker
made me weep.

It Was Over a Hundred

Image by Glenn Buttkus

It was over a hundred
years ago, But Harriet
knew where to go.

Taking Flight

painting by roger tory peterson

taking flight

Just as a cardinal splashes red
flying on a rainy day,
you didn't go unnoticed
when you flounced away.

laurie kolp

Posted over on her site Conversations With Laurie
Listed as #24 over on Magpie Tales 80

It Takes A Good

image by lewis baker

it takes a good

it takes a good
word
here and there
to fashion
a ladder, one
that could
get you places –
eventually, each
step may feel
sturdier
than the next,
but i would
not count on it
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Yi's Bits

Song of the Builders

image borrowed from yahoo

Song of the Builders

On a summer morning
I sat down
on a hillside
to think about God -

a worthy pastime.
Near me, I saw
a single cricket;
it was moving the grains of the hillside

this way and that way.
How great was its energy,
how humble its effort.
Let us hope

it will always be like this,
each of us going on
in our inexplicable ways
building the universe.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Why I Wake Early)

Posted over on Panhala

A Trap Door In A

Image by Glenn Buttkus

A trap door in a
crosswalk might be
counter-indicated.

To Find One of These

Image by Glenn Buttkus

To find one of these
on a pier just
seemed odd to me.

Hard to Believe That

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Hard to believe that
a plant this size
could crack concrete.

It Continues On

Image borrowed from deviant art

It Continues On


It doesn’t stop because you want it too.
This Ferris wheel moves, it is always moving.
Mind at three a.m.
Folding anxieties back on to itself.

This wind
Forcing your umbrella’s collapse.
Inside out
Going on inside
You know the stuff you buried?
Flashing like a neon sign 3
“WEAK”
“UNWANTED”
“WORTHLESS”

Don’t even utter the words.

It is a backbiting temptress

An emissary of craving and desire
The great seductress, whose lie is as beguiling, as
Your very first line.

The high leaves you little enjoyment
once the deed is done.
Left in a puddle of sticky peanut butter
and maple syrup

Covered in flies
Bitten
Pummeling every ounce of self-control

Feeding the demon over and over
Then lying to yourself

And everyone else

Tear streaked anger washes over and out
Spilling off your umbrella leaving you dry
And you pick yourself up and reexamine
Who is in control here?

Stead, Utter
“IMPOWERED”
“DETERMINED”
“FOCUSED”


Kristen Haskell

Posted over on her site Living in the Middle
Listed as #46 over on Magpie Tales 80

Cravings

Image from Thomas Guzman

Cravings

Chocolates at this hour?
It must be the baby.
Babies don’t eat chocolates.
This one does… please!
But it’s raining!
Take my red umbrella.

Stafford Ray

Posted down under on his site Stafford Ray

Seek Wet Agent

image borrowed from deviant art

Seek Wet Agent

Listen…beyond the beading rain,
above the uncertain Asian breeze,
your trained voice is choking.

Born in franked freedom,
now trapped between the heart
and cold cyphered signals.

See…beyond the cold trail,
at the wake of dead letterboxes,
the searching eyes of old friends.

Martin T. Hodges

Posted over on his site Square Sunshine
Listed as #36 over on Magpie Tales 80

Red Umbrella

Image by Christina Burchett

Red Umbrella

He took her heart and put it in a jar
labelled 'used specimen'.
He smiled when he placed the lid on it.

He left her for her best friend who
in the past he'd referred to as
'juvenile and insipid'. And to think she
had encouraged this very same girl to buy
control underwear and blonde highlighting shampoo
(with a hint of infidelity).

He walked away with his music collection
in a red bag: 80s glam rock and the top 100
supermarket music hits.

All his secrets were in that bag:
a poem from his first girlfriend,
his stamp collection and a letter
from the tooth fairy saying
'Thank you for your lovely tooth'
in his mother's handwriting.

He left her, walking casually away
with his little red bag.
She would forgive him for everything,
eventually.

But not for taking her red umbrella.
What would she do now if it rains?

Brigid O'Connor

Posted over on her site Sort of Writing
Listed as #33 over on Magpie Tales 80

Rainbow

image borrowed from yahoo

Rainbow


storms come and go
the earth may quake
this much I know
you are always there
when I need you
most

c.m. jackson 2011

Posted over on States of Mind
Listed as #19 over on Magpie Tales 80

Looking Away

image borrowed from Bing

Looking Away

you would look at me
and it never occurred to me
that you might be choosing
the man of your life

you would look at me
over the bottles and the corpses
and I thought
you must be playing with me

you must think I'm crazy enough
to step behind your eyes
into the open elevator shaft

so I looked away
and I waited
until you became a palm tree

or a crow

or the vast grey ocean of wind
or the vast grey ocean of mind

now look at me
married to everyone but you.


Leonard Cohen

from BOOK OF LONGING.

From Borough To

image borrowed from bing

from borough to


from borough to
borough, the city
springs back
to life, responding
to a stirring of steel
ribs, the quickening
of electrical
wires, synapses
towards the
familiar.

the heart resumes
its harmonizing
rhythm, shuttling
our recollected
dreams, pulling
us into and out
of tunnels,
rediscovering
our perfect
equilibrium
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Television As Patsy

Image borrowed by Bing

Television As Patsy


After WWII, when television was really being widely marketed in America (since people could actually afford them for the first time) one of the primary selling tactics—aside from Keeping Up with the Joneses—was family. ‘TV brings families together’ was the idea. Advertisements showed Mom and Dad, smoking Old Gold or Newport cigarettes on the living room couch with little Jimmy drinking his Ovaltine, awash in the heady glow of “Howdy Doody” or commercials for laundry soap. Together. Social mores were created as the neighborhood kids would come over to watch it while mom served cookies made from a package (also a shift in tradition).

The Baby Boomers grew up, drenched in this new TV zeitgeist. And then, somebody voiced that famous cry, ‘But What About the Children?’ Suddenly, TV was to blame for all of society’s ills. Obesity came from sitting too long (it couldn’t have anything to do with the proliferation of fast food restaurants or pre-packaged foods, the shift from rural to urban lifestyles, etc.). Social cohesion was deteriorating because now—instead of one TV in the living room bringing everyone together, most families had one in the living room, one in the bedroom, one in Little Jimmy’s room, and one in the kitchen for Mom to watch while she waited for the Valium to kick in. The dream was over. TV—you bastard. Look what you did to us? We trusted you! Well, fool me once, buddy.

But I would like to go on record in defense of TV. I think the problem isn’t so much the medium as the amount of exposure. I will also say that many of the ills blamed on TV already existed—TV just exposed us to them. And this is not necessarily a bad thing. That same pampered generation who grew up on TV—and then turned on it (let’s not call them “The Baby Boomers.” Let’s call them “The Judas Generation”) have forgotten just how important and useful TV can be for family togetherness. I’ve had some great times watching TV. Some of my fondest memories are of watching TV shows and movies on TV with my older brother. To be honest, it probably didn’t matter too terribly much what was on; we’d joke and laugh along with Mel Brooks’ movies and episodes of “Saturday Night Live” or “In Living Color.” We’d watch “The Twilight Zone” or “Dark Shadows”—really, it’s likely that my love of horror and sci-fi films came from shows like this, as well as watching slasher flicks on TV with my sister. In college, my friends and I watched “Mystery Science Theater 3000” and did our own versions while watching bad, bad movies. Quotes and allusions to TV shows and films run on TV (though edited) continue to color our lexicon. ‘Bugs Bunny’ cartoons, “3 Stooges” shorts, “MASH” reruns; references to these shows pop up in conversations I have with my family all the time. They are references to good memories that we share.

I’m not saying these shows were all high art (or any of them were), but to assume nothing worthwhile can be gained from any art that isn’t deemed “high” is to completely fail to understand some of the more important uses of art. (And to be a jerk.) Art can do a lot of things—educate, incite social discourse, impact us emotionally, etc.—but one thing it does well is leaves us changed in some way. Isn’t laughter a change?

Of course, an argument can be made that many TV shows have been very important. I mentioned “MASH”—as the show progressed, it shifted from straight comedy to social awareness, presenting ideas that might easily have been foreign to some young (and old) minds. Take Oprah—I’m not a fan, but she is an African American woman who appeared in the homes of millions of Americans five days a week, a woman many other women, and plenty of men, turned to for advice, whose influence was widely felt and accepted. This is no small feat in a country that remained segregated in many, many Midwestern, Northern, and Southern towns and suburbs through…well, even now, frankly. I don’t even need to mention the impact new broadcasts have had on us all.

TV can educate in more basic ways. I spent many Sunday afternoons with my father watching “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” and learning about nature and wildlife. Do I even need to mention “Sesame Street?” (Pre-Elmo, of course.)

Of course, there’s crap on TV. But there’s crap everywhere. So we have to sift through it. Also, TV is full of advertisements, the dangers of which…well, that’s a different essay altogether, I think. But nobody watches commercials. You surf or go get a drink of water or whatever.

But what I’m dancing around, here, is that question I dropped but didn’t answer: What about the children? The question is, will I use TV as a surrogate babysitter? Of course not. That’s bad parenting. I should go on record at this point and confuse the hell out of everyone by stating that I don’t actually have TV—we do own two sets, but neither of them receives any channels. We watch movies on them. We simply don’t have time to watch TV, so we don’t pay for it. But I will watch TV with my daughter. Some. I will show her reruns or DVDs of “The Muppet Show.” I will show her “Sesame Street.” When she gets older, we’ll watch Mel Brooks’ movies together, and “Airplane,” and all kinds of TV shows. Hell, we’ll probably break down and get TV cable at some point. And we’ll laugh. And maybe we’ll learn something. And we’ll quote them to each other and nobody else will know what we’re talking about. Unless they’ve seen these shows. But most people will just think we’re dorks. And that’s okay.


Cortney Bledsoe

Posted over on his site Murder Your Darlings

The Universe of Stars

image borrowed from bing

The Universe of Stars

the Universe of Stars...a spherical space,
interspersed unequably—you received more
than most—why we loved you, you borrowed angel—
coming down from some sky

to give us electric heart, to show us how
music looks as it dances in and out of a body,
you playing your own body like that, no inactive
limb stood inert as you played the rhythms out

You said you were only a vessel. I say,maybe
you were Mercury itself--the planet nearest the Sun.
The wild audacity or your perfect triumph.


Marian Haddad

Posted over on her Facebook page.

Married Life

Image borrowed from Bing

Married Life


Him, at home, looking out of the window:

Didn't she say she'd be on the later train because she was going to have her hair done after work ?
Oh no, it's raining hard. She won't like that.
I know what I'll do. I'll see if I can get to the station in time to get her brolly to her.
I'll take the bike, that's quicker.


Him, at the station, looking round:

No sign of her. No sign of anybody. The train must be late.


Passenger, hurrying, coming up from the platform:

You missed the train, mate, it's been and gone.


Him, on the platform, standing in the rain, wondering what to do:


Where can she be? Perhaps she waited for the next train?
I'll hang about a bit, see if she's on that one.


Her, at home, sitting over a cup of tea, as he walks in:


Where have you been? You are wet through. What was so urgent that it couldn't wait until after the rain? I've been back ages. When I came out of the hairdresser's and saw how hard it poured, I took a cab. Didn't fancy getting soaked.


Ursula White

aka: Friko

Posted over on her site Friko's World
Listed as #15 over on Magpie Tales 80

The Bones Of

Image by Glenn Buttkus

The bones of
the pier remain
well watered.

When A Pick Up

Image by Glenn Buttkus

When a pick up
tries to fly, it
needs thicker feathers.

Lovely Ghost, She

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Lovely ghost, she
might appear in a
myriad of locales.

Airboating In The Everglades

painting by John Sokol

Airboating in the Everglades

In a soap dish with a fan, we skim over black water,
through narrow lanes of sea grass, where great herons
and spoonbills, egrets and ibis, thrash up out of thickets

and mangroves at the last possible moment, like
widowers who won’t sell out their homes to the state’s
new highway. Black buzzards and turkey vultures

hover suspiciously, circle, then float a pose for the click
and whir of my brother’s zoom lens. A dozen
alligators, as still as prehistoric stones,

dry their backs in the red mangrove dusk. Further on,
seven wild hogs greet us from their black mud home
and beg the guide for the corn cobs they know he hoards

in the motorbox. The sow - enormous and proud -
watches her skinny daughters and her squealing
spotted sons. Her intense dark eyes pierce the

metal of our corn-cob ruse. Somehow she seems
like the mute voice of the glades, the pig Buddha
whose stare says: we don’t cut through your yards,

we don’t run through your houses while you’re eating
dinner. We don’t gawk and blink false eyes at you
while you sleep.

John Sokol

Posted over on his Facebook page.

- Eclectic Literary Forum, Vol. 5, No. 2

Human Nature

image by yi ching lin

human nature:

human nature:
close enough to
drama, tough
enough for wit
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Nature Teases Nature

image by yi ching lin

nature teases nature

nature teases nature
with a degree of
moral support
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Past Midnight, and the Day

image borrowed from bing

past midnight and the day

past midnight, and the day
of preparations and waiting
turns in – the tubs are
full, flashlights within
arm’s reach, and
there is finally a steady
percussionist taking over
the rhythm section, all
windows covered
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

We Are Not So Tough

image borrowed from bing

we are not so tough


we are not so tough
after all, an entire
city lying in
wait, as the whisper of Irene
fills every bodega,
every alley, pulls
the brakes on the
last train as we scurry
home, armed
with shopping bags
of headlines and hearsay
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Haiku 159

Painting by Leonid Afremov

Haiku 159


a red umbrella

held against the pouring rain

beneath it he smiles


Paul Andrew Russell

Posted over on his site Paul Andrew Russell
Listed as #8 over on Magpie Tales 80

Golden

images of Kathleen Kistner.

Golden
•
there is a quiet golden
in this evening as it settles
unequaled in its beauty
by even that of precious metals
it embraces vesper’s hour
with a subtle gentle heat
lays down upon the land
like the roll of amber wheat
it dances in the air
strokes your hair aglow in smolders
folds its warmth upon your face
fondles fiery ’round your shoulders
it ignites a special magic
as though dreams are coming true
paints the world in a splendor
almost beautiful as you
a goddess of the sun
in this moment you catch fire
my heart a helpless tinder
now sparked by love’s desire
caught by beauty’s flame
I’m filled with passion’s yearning
my soul is set ablaze
please don’t leave me burning
before I am consumed
quench me with your precious kiss
for if I am to be consumed
I pray it be in bliss
• • •
rob kistner

2011

Posted over on his site Image and Verse
Listed as #5 over on Magpie Tales 80

Spared

Image borrowed from Bing

Spared
•
how I do long
for the damp dreary days
of deep december
when my fallen face
of melancholy
is commonplace
when no one intrudes
to question what’s the matter
because all around
are caught up in the blues

oh if only
you could find it
in your heart
to forgive
this sadly lost
and broken man
who much too late
understands he was a fool
and in his sorrow
understands why you refuse

but how I wish
ill-tempered weather
would ensue
to drive the joyful
that mock around me
back indoors
so I’d be spared
the pain of smiling faces
and the bitter memory
of how much I did lose
• • •
rob kistner

2011

Posted over on his site Image and Verse
Listed as #3 over on Magpie Tales 80

She Considers

Red Umbrella by Christopher Shay

She Considers

She'll do it neat
surgically quick
Lavoris-clean in white shoes
like a 1960s doctor

rendering him lobscouse
Capote-cold blood overhead
like an icky red umbrella

fresh fodder for ants and crows
left crusted in poison ivy
for the American Pickers to find

she drives off
in a Lyndon Johnson limousine
to a quiet destination for a smoke

it feels good...

but his eyes are open
looking at her
like she just stole his bicycle



Tess Kincaid
August, 2011

Posted over on her site Life at Willow Manor
Listed as #1 over on Magpie Tales 80

Back When I Was Trapping Ginastera

image borrowed from bing

back when i was trapping Ginastra


back when i was trapping Ginastera
clusters, it was probably easier
for you to walk away, close many
doors behind you, stuff the cracks
with wet towels so that the vapors
from presto misterioso could not
follow.

but for some reason, you
stayed, chewed on each
microtone, twirled an aleatory
passage or two, asked me to
play this
or that measure again,
as if repetition could retrieve form
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Gold Mine

Image by Teresa Young


Gold Mine


Love visions emerge.

Mother lode of emotions

sift gems through gold pan.


Janet Leigh

Posted over on her site Poetmeister

From The Harmonic

image by yi ching lin

from the harmonic

from the harmonic
analysis of your
nodes, to the way
you lean into the
dissonance of
each bud cluster,
you climb the
fence with a little
bit of jazz, trained
to espalier like
a winged
cross-rhythm
.

Yi Ching Lin


Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Sad Picket Fence

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Sad picket fence;
no longer white,
no longer significant.

Yes, It Looked Like

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Yes, it looked like
a barn door, only it
provided no access.

Red Barn Lost Its

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Red barn lost its
hue and roof, but
still stands proudly.

If Love Has a Library

Image borrowed from NASA

If Love Has a Library

If love has a library of every book you’ll ever read
starting with great-uncle Cromagnon Mike’s hunting
yarns passed down to cousins Billy Bob and Billie Sue
in caves where bear flesh sustained the future you,

through the years when printing presses clacked
while you apprenticed in growing up and growing
towards museums about men walking on the moon
and men stirring glowing cauldrons of binary code,

all the way to the final pages your eyes will read
in print so enormous you think of it as Jupiter now,
consider my name swirled into each chapter’s art
and my heart the light that shines on every word.

Jannie Funster

Posted over on her site Jannie Funster

Bloody Shame

image borrowed from bing

Bloody Shame

Yesterday I went to donate a pint
at the blood bank and they handed me
this computer ipad thingy to log in on
and I bailed.

So if some poor bastard dies
for lack of a pint of grade A blood,
it's either Bill Gates
or Steve Job's fault.

Doug Palmer

Posted over on his new site OK to Laugh

I Put On a Face

image borrowed from bing

i put on a face

i put on a face
of August
sunsets, forced
to wait for
company –
the gradient
sky chisels
each deepening
hue like a hash
mark on the wall,
redistributing every
wayward second
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Magicicada Spp.

Image borrowed from Bing

Magicicada spp.


Even if little boys in play
shd use a piece of grass or wood or a brush
or perhaps a fingernail
to draw an image of the Buddha
such persons as these
bit by bit will pile up merit
and will become fully endowed with a mind of great compassion;
they all have attained the Buddha way.
The buddha’s relics will circulate widely
--The Lotus Sutra

HD 10180, a yellow dwarf star like our own Sun, had five planets detected by the HARPS (High Accuracy Radial velocity Planet Searcher) programme at the European Southern Observatory. … Two further planets were discovered in the system towards the end of 2010, making it the most-populated planetary system to date.
--BBC 0ct 1, 2008

it’s another
planet now
cicadas

*

cicada shell’s my amulet cerebrum

*

must be
same gene

tells you
get
out of

yrself
cicada

*
yr shell — my shell —
cicada
kayak

*

cicada shell
kayak too this
bottomless lake

*

little
boat

on that
sea

lucky
drowning!

*

every bit of you comes out cicada

*

lonely mobs
13-year
cicadas

*

in my undershirt
examining
cicada molts

*

13 year
cicada — what gets
reborn?

*

cicada molt my skin color

*

cicadas
termites

how much longer
being human

*

cicada — millions
never knowing
one another

*

cicada millions
an ocean
full of whales

*

bumbling down
this road one more
cicada

*

cicadas die
legs drawn up
so human

*

mulberries of course there’s a stain

*

cicadas & mulberries equal in number

*

ci
cada
wings

maple
keys—

& still
this

air
remains

*

cicadas
falling

out of
sky

all those
people

*

imago
instar
nymph
which are you?

*

sky’s
one
big

eye
glass
lens

*

o cicada
you’ve no
eyelids

*

knowing
what youre
about —
catastrophe

*

rusting — ruins
surrounding
the pea plants

*

peas really climbing now — youre out of sticks

*

bare wood shack
cabbages
taking shape

*

get out
of yr head
sketching cabbages

*

old clothespins
all those lives
outdoors

*

electrical box --
there's yr opening
wrens

*

thunder
he pulls up
his socks

*

tar paper roof
trellises
filling up

*

all
youwant

to be
one

dragon
fly
wing

*

little kitchen
you get all
the light

*

elbows
on a wood table
solo

*
wood table old friend
a bread-
&-
butter

solo
life

*

bare kitchen counters
& the radio
off

*

raining
it’s a glass
bowl

*

ten-year-
old
bamboo

knows
the trick’s

to root
in
water
*
another raccoon you scrub a pear

*
dish
towels

fold
ed

*

under-sink
cabinet
won’t stay shut

*

you wash
yr spoon

& brush
yr teeth

*

come spring
the mice forsake
this little kitchen

*

in
the right
light
you
dis
appear

John Martone

Posted over on Poems and Poetics

--june 2011

These Days Blossoms Can

image borrowed from bing

these days blossoms can


these days blossoms can
turn the wind on and off on
the tiniest whim
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Vanished

Image borrowed from Bing

Vanished
•
and he saw them leaving
and he opened his mouth in farewell
but only dust escaped

and broken dreams

and a spoiled promise
from long ago
left too long on the shelf

so he raised his hand
to gesture a wave
but he was rigid
and could not

and they did not hear him
and they did not see him
for he had already vanished
• • •
rob kistner

2011

Posted over on his site Image and Verse
Listed as #67 over on Magpie Tales 79

Behold A Football Field

Image by Glenn Buttkus

Behold
a football field
by the bay, below
school level.

They Say A Mad

Image by Glenn Buttkus

They say
a mad professor
is held captive
in this turret.

A Medieval Castle

Image by Glenn Buttkus

A medieval castle,
a movie set, and
a public school;
go figure.

Who But the Giant's

image by yi ching lin

who but the giant's

who but the giant’s
wife would have spruced
up jack’s beanstalk with
giantess flowers to
turn her husband’s
eventual fall into
a piece of art – stars
in gentle pursuit,
piling on top
of his still body
.

Yi Ching Lin

Posted over on her site Y's Bits

Fran's Smile

Image borrowed from Bing

Fran's Smile


one car - one street town
Jack gives up
his shotgun rights
slips in the backseat
beckoned by Fran's smile

Old Ollie

Posted over on his site Humbucker Poems
Listed as #32 over on Magpie Tales 79

The Way We Were

Image borrowed from Bing

The Way We Were


"These old photographs could go", she says. "Who would ever want to look at them again? There's only me now and I have no further interest in them. There won't be room for them in the retirement home".

She rummages around in the shoebox on the table in front of her and picks a photo at random. Peering at the faded print with her short-sighted eyes, she says to her carer: "Pass me my glasses, there's a dear. I might as well have a quick look through, although nothing much will come of it. It's all so long ago".

The picture is clearer now, she recognises faces. "Why, that's me and Ted and ........
She stops. A sudden flush of shame, hot and unpleasant, rises up in her. She feels her stomach turning over and a wave of nausea hits her.Who'd have thought that after all these years she'd suddenly feel guilty.

She stares at the picture. A window into the past opens up and, for the first time in sixty years, she allows herself to come face to face with the way she was.

She and Ted and . . . . yes, Shirley, that was her name . . . .
Best friends they were, the three of them; together as children and together as teenagers, all adventures, all secrets shared; others called them "The Three Musketeers"; there was no separating them.

How young they were, how innocent, a world of boundless possibilities awaiting them, the road ahead straight and even. When they were small they had sworn to be friends eternally; whatever happened, they would remain true to each other.

And then Ted and Shirley fell in love.

Suddenly, they were not three but two plus one; still friends, still close, still spending time together; like here, in the photo. She continued to stare at it, her hand shaking a little. She remembered clearly now, they were all off to the lake for a day's swimming and picnicking; happy and carefree, Ted and Shirley sitting in the back seat, probably holding hands, while she sat next to the driver, her dad, alone, in the front.

The shock of the realisation that her world was collapsing, that she was no longer part of an inseparable unit, hit her hard. She could see it in the eyes looking out at her from the photo; could also see the beginnings of the scheming girl she was about to become. Suddenly, she hated Shirley. She did not, and never could, hate Ted, for she too loved him.

She put the photo down.

It hadn't been hard to separate Ted and Shirley; she flirted and promised, she flattered and beguiled, until Ted had lost his head one summer's evening and kissed her.

No, it hadn't been hard at all.

Her eyes clouded over. Her marriage to Ted had been happy and contented for the most part, neither better nor worse than most marriages. She had no regrets.

"Get rid of the box", she said to the carer, as she slid the photograph back in between the others.


Ursula White

aka: Friko

Posted over on her site Friko's World
Listed as #30 over on Magpie Tales 79