I got a soggy dog-lick-kiss, breakfast on a tray
with the dreaded birthday sentence: Fifty years today.
Gifts enshrined in angry bills, ring box on a tin can,
and on the bed beside me, my oh, so funny man.
I wouldn’t touch my breakfast; the tea was weak and cold,
the bread was stale, the marmalade thickly furred with mould.
I unwrapped all the presents; fake poo and inked perfume,
I threw aside a birthday card, then marched out of the room.
He chased me to the kitchen; he knelt on knobbly knees
to offer me the ring box, said: Please don’t be a tease.
He looked so hurt and serious I thought he was sincere.
I’m glad I chose to take it, or he would still be here.
I carefully prised it open, expecting glittery bling,
but in that stupid jewellery box there was no diamond ring;
no long-denied proposal, no promise from my champ –
curled amidst the velvet was a grubby postage stamp.
I glared at him in fury, but he waved my rage away,
and laughing shrilly, said to me: It’s for a holiday.
Climb into this box, I’ll add the stamp and the address
of any destination, North, South, East or West.
It might be midlife crisis, but I’m weary of his humour;
I wished a heart attack on him, or a most aggressive tumour,
so feeling thus disgruntled, I shot him through the head.
He’s curled up in an outsize box, not joking now he’s dead.
I’m posting him to Timbuctoo, with no return address,
So I will never get him back, and I’ll suffer no redress.
It’s funny what you think of, when you scrub a bloody floor,
kitchen units and two windows, one kitten and a door:
We met on Friday the thirteenth, an unlucky day for me,
but the thirteenth has returned; how unlucky now is he!
I don’t regret the past, and there’s something I will miss;
I’d like to give him one last breath and see him laugh at this.
©Jane Paterson Basil
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Written for Three Things Challenge: thirteen, midlife crisis, past
©Jane Paterson Basil
Priceless! Glad you didn’t waste that stamp. One of my faves of yours.
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Thank you Judy. I thought of you while I was writing, and hoped it might appeal.
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Feeling in a frivolous mood?
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So, you spotted the subtle change of tone 🙂
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Yes, it was EVER so subtle 🙂
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Haha – it’s a good sign when I keep switching genres; it means I’m feeling good 🙂
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🙂
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charming darling!
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I write something like this whenever it feels like I’m getting more respect than I deserve. I guess you could call it self-sabotage 🙂
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We’ll have none of that…🐸🐸🐸🐸
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I think I might be beyond redemption…
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No! There is nobody beyond redemption….
i’ll send you a quick blink, shy wink, an a handful of kisses in your desired places!
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Twisted! And so damned Hilarious! Karma is a b*tch, no?! 😎🥀
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Especially when it comes in the shape of a woman scorned 🙂 🙂
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The protagonist is a sick, sick woman. But I love her!
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Thank you, Paul. This sick woman lives inside my head. Let’s just hope she never escapes 🙂
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I hear that’s quite the occupational hazard of being an artist — to have both good and ill.
But I think that’s true of everyone, just that most folks deny it, might not even be aware of it.
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I think you’re right.
I wrote a long response to your message, but when I read it back it just seemed to say “blah blah blah”…
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I’ve done the same thing myself.
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Whoa! Not your usual, but very interesting, Jane. I think it’s fun to write these horror ridden pieces, but I’m not good at it.
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I can’t remember reading any dark pieces from you. Maybe you don’t have a dark twist in your soul. I write this kind of stuff now and again, but – although I take pride in doing it well – I’m sabotaging my reputation as a thinker. I like to be taken seriously, but when I am, I get nervous and start acting the clown.
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Good one! Great poetic storytelling.
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