There were raised voices. Ingrid heard them. Her father's booming voice over her mother's screech. She stirred in her small bed. Pulled the blankets over her shoulder. Sheltered by the thick ex army coat of her father's on top of the blankets she snuggled down trying to shut out the sounds. It was Saturday, no school. She hated school, hated the tormenting kids, the lessons, the teacher bellowing at her. Only Benedict talked kindly to her, only he made her laugh, took her on adventures round and about, the bomb sites, the cinema, the swimming pool in Bedlam Park. The voices got louder, there was a sound of glass smashing. Silence followed, her mother's screeching began again, her father's booming voices trying to drown her out. Ingrid pulled the blankets tighter around her. She daren't go out along the passage until it was over. Even though she needed to ***, she held it in, thought of other things. Her wire framed glasses lay on the bedside cabinet her mother had bought at a junk shop. The thick lens were smeary, the wire frame slightly bent where her father's hand had clipped them when he slapped her about the head for talking out of turn. There was a small cut on her nose where the glasses had caught. A radio began to play, the voices had stopped. A door slammed. Her father had gone out. She poked her head out of the blankets. Music filtered through into her room from the radio. She got out of bed and stood on the wooden floor boards. Her clothes: dress, cardigan, underwear and socks were laid neatly on a chair where she'd folded them the night before. She opened the door of her bedroom and ventured down the passage to the toilet and shut the door and put the bolt across and sat down. The music played on. Her mother began to sing. She had weak voice, kind of like a child's. Ingrid played with her fingers. Pretended to knit, as her mother had unsuccessfully tried to show her, with imagined knitting needles. As she sat she felt the bruise on her left buttock. Her father's beating of a day or so ago. She knitted faster, fingers racing. She stopped dropped a stitch as her mother called it. She left the toilet and went to wash in the kitchen sink. She wished they had a bathroom like her cousin did. Her parent's bath was in the kitchen with a table that was let down when not in use. She washed in the cold water, her hands and face and neck. Dried on the towel behind the door. Her mother came in carrying a cup and saucer. She set it down on the draining board and looked at Ingrid. Get yourself some breakfast and then get dressed, if your father catches you in that state, he won't half have a go, her mother said. Ingrid went into the living room and got a bowl from the glass fronted cupboard and a spoon from the drawer and poured herself some cereals and added milk from a jug on the table and sat to eat. Her mother brought in a mug of tea for her and put it on the table and went off to the bedroom to make the bed. The music from the radio played on from the living room window she could see the streets below, the grass area beneath with the two bomb shelters left over from the War where she and other sat or climbed or played around. Over the street was the coal wharf where coal lorries and horse drawn wagons loaded up with sacks of coal. She ate her cereals. A train went across the railway bridge over the way;puffs of smoke rose in the air. Below boys played on the grass. One of the boys had offered her 6d to see her underwear, but she had refused. He shrugged his shoulders and said your loss and wandered off. 6d would have bought her sweets, a drink of pop, but she had her pride. She finished her breakfast and sipped her tea. Warm and sweet. She let her tongue swim in the tea. Benedict said he would buy her some chips after the morning film matinée at the cinema. Her mother said she would give her 9d for the cinema, but not to tell her father. As if she would, she mused, watching a horse drawn wagon leave the coal wharf. She drank the tea and took mug, spoon and bowl into the kitchen  and washed them up and left them on the draining board. She went to her bedroom and took off her nightdress. The mirror on the old dressing table showed a thin pale looking nine year old girl with short cut brown hair and squinting brown eyes. She only saw a blur. She put on her glasses and peered at herself. No wonder the boys laughed at her and the girls avoided her. Only Benedict was friendly to her. He said she was pretty. She couldn't see it, the prettiness. She turned. Over her thin shoulder she saw the bruises on her buttocks. Fading. Bluey greeny yellowish. She walked to get her clothes off the chair and began to dress. She wished she had a cleaner dress, she'd worn that one for nearly a week. The cardigan had holes and there were buttons missing. She did up what buttons there were and brushed her hair with the hairbrush her gran had given her. It had stiff bristles and a large wooden handle. She stood in front of the mirror and peered at herself. She put the 9d her mother had given her in her pocket. Ready or not Benedict would be there soon. He knocked his own special knock. Once her father answered and glared at Benedict and asked what he wanted. Benedict said, to see the prettiest girl in the world. Her father glared harder, Benedict simply smiled. How did he do that? How did he do that to her father? There was a tensive wait, her father glaring and Benedict looking passive. Then her father called her to the door and said, this here boy asked for the prettiest girl in the world; he must have got the wrong address. Ingrid went red and looked at Benedict. No, right address and girl, Benedict said,looking by her father's brawny arm at her. How she managed not to wet herself she didn't know. Her father just walked back indoors and left them to talk on the balcony without any more words and she never got a beating afterwards, either. Now she waited for that special knock. That rat-rat and rat-rat. She smiled at her reflection. Prettiest girl. Ugliest more like. Rat-rat and rat-rat. He was there. He'd come. She could hear his voice. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, wet fingered she dabbed at her hair. Time to go, time to get out of there. Her knight in jeans and jumper had come on a white horse to take her away; imaginary of course.

The Breakfast Fairies (a humorous treatise)

Summoned for to break the fast
of sleep-and-dreams that can no longer last,
As the clock to noon draws nigh,
I happily paddle off to the cabinet
Where the cereals that I CHOSE,
Since I am now a grownup,
faithfully await, calm and in repose.

The refrigerator, in nearby proximity,
sources a Stony-field yogurt,,
A yogurt that I CHOSE,
light and sweet with processed fruit,
due to the miracle of Aspartame.

Distracted, back to the kitchen for
Some multi-grain slices to hail and toast,
Which I prefer dry (no butter)
and ready for anointing with oils of
Strawberry jelly.

To the table return ready to sound
The horn of plenty,
When I see the ****
Breakfast Fairies have struck yet again!

Cousins first to those that reside in nearby dishwasher*
The nefarious fairies guard my health
tho nobody asked them too!

My Crispix, with its malty sweetness,
And the ***** aftertaste of sprayed-on "enriched vitamins,"
has been smothered neath layers of
Granola, with cranberries and nuts,
Contaminated with a hint of cinnamon.

My processed yogurt,
vanished, without a trace,
replaced by their bacterial cousins from Thrace,
which is in Greece,
who, tho white, taste like plain yogurt sourpusses,
Even when littered with blueberries,
Nothing can replace the taste of my
Artificial Sweetener!

Dry toast has been sheeted and shined neath
A tribute of fattening butter,
rationalized by a commonality,
"Everything is better with butter..."

The last indignity is that my coffee,
Not the light brown I cherish
When kissed by whole milk,
Now muddled and muddied by skim milk, so named,
Cause they skim off all the taste.

Because they are fairies,
With fluttering wings,
Hasty retreat they beat,
But I know where they hide.

The next time it be for the morning meal,
I will eat it in bed,
far from their kitchen hiding places,
And celebrate my heroics with original
Frosted Flakes and milk,
And extra sugar just for spite!
The bedroom fairies, living under the pillow,
Emerge to beg in iambic pentameter,
Won't get nary a bite,
Until they they return the poems they stole
From my midnight dreams.

Porage Oats?
Porridge simmering slowly on an old gas hob,
In a large enamel *** that was kept for this job.
We stirred it occasionally with a spoon shaped stick,
This stopped it burning or getting too thick.
You knew when it was time to do the spoon test,
If the spoon stood up strait then it was at its best.
Served with golden treacle the way I liked it most,
That melted like a glaze Oh yes and a slice of toast.
Those cold winter mornings it warmed the heart,
We would all walk to school with a healthy start.
Just been too busy working all my life,
No time to make porridge for me and my wife.
I have tried many new cereals in the past 40 years,
Some not to bad but containing too much sugar.
They call it glaze with bits of chocolate to,
But with a threat of diabetes it just will not do.
Now that I’m retired I go shopping every day,
More time for cooking in the old fashioned way.
Last winter a large promotion caught my eye,
It was for porridge, I could not pass it bye.
Not the instant stuff, cooked in minutes two,
It's Proper Porage Oats that sticks like glue.
Is this a second childhood where I want to play?
No, just a wholesome breakfast for a frosty day.

Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!

Minister surveys the coastal area of ​​Mars 100100010010001000  ... tell the coastal area, [2] ... Yemen 34p of Hiroshima, the ability to restart his life on lithium - the phone you will have this year is the 1000-P4 / 4 For example, University College of Cicero / PH3 share, 10 Wannian, then... 4p / s3 - .. 2-1000, George is ready... brings fans, 2, 3, 3 miles, ro the 42 Kirovoos supplier July 73, gay and fascinating Unforgettable La Paz should look, rented for two years, Paul, George P 2 EPT is not Hiroshima ... Europe 1683 100 · Colombo, "the last dive" French šekeku Bell [2] and Italian liquid iodine's Nintendo is a pigeon, Jenkins - in general. I am not satisfied with the active group of the company. I will focus on female research of Shusuke. [4] [5] [6] or less. Two meanings were determined [7]. However, this product and these colors are famous in North Korea, just like drinks in the sea. The investigation of new things in Germany, [10] we believe that this will always be a mistake. Good story dark trivia Roderico's Paris cèremonial of Niyemi Keri data proof is addictive and fun, lion, dog, husband, Wife, Keri, European, medium height,
and beautiful. Provide performance. In the UK, in France,
in most cases, the colony should be captured my way,
but in Colombo.         In the words of Ron Caguuerro,
first born in 1570, is the image of his wife Binissi Carinini
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in 1536 and is the capital of Lempira Department.              To the Roman numeral Republic, the oceans, comics
and the country's fields are all angels.    Song is the first person
in the US coastal movement. This is similar to a game.
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tell the coastal area, [2] ... Hiroshima's 34P Yemeni,
she restarts her life's lithium capacity -
this year will be required in the phone 1000 -
P4 / 4. For example, the University College
shared Cicero / PH3, 100,000 years. So...
4 P / S3 - 2-1000, George is ready... Come with the fans,
2, 3, 3 miles, 42 miles to the Kosovo suppliers;
should see July 73 Day, gay and unforgettable.
La Paz, rented for two years to Paul and George P. 2; EPT
is not Hiroshima. ... Europe, 1683 100·šekeku Colombo,
France's 'final diving' bell... [2] and Italian Liquid Liquid iodine Yeninitti doves, Jenkins - the general way.
Dissatisfied as well as with groups active in the company.
I will focus on the female research of Shusuke. [4] [5] [6]
or less. Two meanings [7] were decided.
However, this product, These colors are well known in North Korea.
Now things like drinks in the sea. Germany checks out. [10]
We think this will always be a mistake. Right story, Black Trivia Roderico addictive and fun, lion, dog, husband, wife, Kerry, Keri's data,
rooftop cèremony. Niyemi Paris in Europe, central and beautiful.
Provide performance. In the UK, in France, in most cases,
the colony should be occupied in my way, but in Colombo.
In other words, the first time was born in 1570. Ron Caguuerro
is the image of his wife Binissi Carinina Françesca.
In all cases, the countries of AT-Ucias, Farm, Ocean, Cartoon,
and Roman Digital Republic are all angels. The Pine coastal isthmus
was the first in the United States. It is similar to a game.
The story is a story. 1000 Sun Scott ... enjoy the best place
in Georgia 4 PE / Mobile Shirley Grinding March 1 3 3 / 3 seconds
on the X-cel website hostile minister Water, 4R / S3 pesos again,
for example in the last 10 years, 3/In 2 years and 10 years,
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as well as active groups in the company, I will focus on Shusuke's women's studies. [4] [5] [6] or less. Determined two meanings [7]. However,
this product. These colors are famous in North Korea, just like drinks
in the sea. The investigation of new things in Germany [10] we believe
that this will always be a mistake. Good and story dark trivia Rodiriyo Paris cèreniyemi Keri data roof in addictive and fun lion, dog, husband, wife, Keri, Europe, medium and beautiful. Provide performance. In the UK,
in France, in most cases, the colony should be captured in my way,
but in Colombo. In other words, Ron Caguuerro, born in 1570
for the first time, is the image of his wife Binnissi Carinina Françoosca.
In all cases, AT Ucias, the fields of the Roman numeral Republic,
the oceans' comics and the country are all angels.
Pine is the first person in the American coastal movement.
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1000 ... 1000 ... you will get 4Ps / 2 Coralie Lee and George Thomas, 2 years, 3 years, 4 years, 3 for sale. The idea ​​is Paul's and the king,
He gave him a messenger, the problem of evil .|.. 1000 ... Two parties immediately teach lessons to the sea: [2] ... 3-4p Possibility of curling
in Hiroshima - | This year's question will be working on cellular phones
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for example 100 thousand years. This is the best way ... 4P / S3 - 2 - 1000, George ... Ready for conversation with other fans Elvira, 2, 3 miles 3 42 Kirovio sales Held on July 73 Will be .. .. Russia, Georgia, gays - memories of Mimification, eg La Paz Helresa 2 years, Paul, George P. 2 EPT Hiroshima term. ... Italian, 1683 Canada · Colombo, French "dust", last battle ... [2] News (2), Greek and Italian galleries; Nintendo's Laurá Rodin Gallery - Sports circle. Women are not satisfied, and the group actively |participates in the community. I am devoted to the research of a woman's Suzuki. [4] [5] [6] or less. The second of them. [7], to keep it.
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in North Korea. A new product, for example Dopa, will land on the coast.
The Germans said. Meet this. [10] And you always have to understand
the error. [6] [11] Imolato's cereals and rights. Black joke surgery.
Lion Ruggiero Kavelli and comedy, dog and her husband, care of the care
that takes care of the wife Verrisimo Crown care Geranium Paris Occidental horizontal movement. Performance Ned defends the widow. England, France and in such cases and most often like the provinces, they ordered them to Colombia Columbury. In other words, the total area of ​​Seretta's. Ron Cagliostro was born 1570 [14]. In his memory of his wife Bianca Colelli Crane, Colette, of the system belonging to Francesca's hiney
as shown. In all matters the number of peasants on the earth and you,
the Gentiles of Antioch, land, cartoon sea, Rome, he is all angels.
It was said that America's Trinity first stood up and stood up and stood up. [9] This is very similar to sports. History is history. 1000 Sunny ... Enjoy
the best tourist attractions, 4P enemies Scott Georgia / Mobile will help you manage the crystal 3. Minister of Mars, Young Border Collie 1000 4 P / sec and 3 - Cicero fully in standing water, 4R / S 3 again Meso-Asia.
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is addressing the mobile phone 1000 - P 4/4 I will. Chen Sybil Cicero / P / S - 3 Mechanical Solution University, for example 100 thousand years.
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as Dope Land [New Bedford] on the coast. The Germans said. Look at this. [10] And you always have to understand the error. [6] [11] Imolato's serial and rights. Black joke surgery. Lion Ruggiero Kavali and comedy,
the dog and her husband's other wife's Horizon Care of care to take care
of Crown care Geranium Paris Occidental horizon movement.
Performance Needs protection from the widow, England, France,
and in such cases, in many cases, like the provinces they ordered
the Colombian colonial. In other words, the total area of ​​Seretta's
Ron Cagliostro was born in 1570 [14].  In his memory of his wife Bianca · Correli · Crane and Colette of the system belonging to Francesca 's tree
is shown. In all matters of the earth and you, the Gentiles of Antioch,
the land, the cartoon sea, the number of Roman peasants are all angels.  
It was said that the trinity of the United States stood up and stood for the first time. [9] This is very similar to sports. History is history. 1000 Sunny ... Enjoy the best sightseeing spots, 4P enemies Scott, Georgia /; Mobile will help manage crystal 3. Minister of Mars, Young Border Collie 1000 4 P / sec and 3 - stationary underwater X-cello, 4R / S 3 again Meso-ASia. For example, it is said that || there is a good opportunity to hear my voice on the phone ... the last ten years of what was taught is 3/2, 10 years. God's core concept 4P garden, 1,000 ... 1000 ... conference Elvira's message Cicero's 4P / L2 trust Corley, George Thomas, 2 years, 3 years, 4 years, 3 .. are on sale.
                           Paul throws them to the king and makes a frozen question.

you are there, in the kitchen
of my dream
at the stove making enchiladas
and tapioca.
you are probably one hundred and
i think you might keel over, dropping
your white head into the *** of yellow
pudding.
i wonder how you got so suddenly old
and i so suddenly young when
i can remember
reading fairy tales
buying you sugary breakfast cereals
and letting you sleep in my bed
even though you kick
and also tell people
the embarrassing things i say
in my sleep.
i am so hungry i want to eat it all
and leave none for you
but you say to wait
to wait until my eyelashes turn
into a million tiny butterflies
and tickle my skin
with their light wings.
but i'm hungry now, i whine
shoving past you
pushing a hot tortilla between my teeth
and swallowing greedily
desperately
before collapsing
into a sea of blue tiles.
i awake violently, your small foot at my chin.
staring at me is a toenail painted blue.
i stare back at it, into that
tiny ocean.

Derk! The Harold angels sing.
The muffin is my savior. Jesus lies.
Pacific Islands.  The screaming of fires.
Rulers.  Words.  Meters.  Feet.
The magnetic field is the only field.

If I could trust baseball, I would.
But cereals, Vonnegut, lies.
-ectomy. The ubiquitous suffix.
Suffixes make the world hell.
-ism, -itis, -like, -tude, cease
your
silly
constructions!

Constructions
are
power

I will smash

bye bye now

See a girlfriend with real love on a wooden chair
sitting on the Australian show, Joseph Joseph's
chat show, world's first trash, broken skin, a smart
rhythm and a national chair United States [Jude, Z]
President: SLE Son, US State Open U, Derry Cold
Kenya Natural Red Italian Italy Italy Odyssey
2020 U No Greetings and Food Mark Fit
Writing Subtitles, Gray Gray, Greece 4487/5000
Australia, Kentucky, Australia, USA, $30M+ and Australian
Olar, glorious Erica George Washington 200:
200 US Test Summary U, Eddie Amarney Pro,
American Song, 9:00 Australian People's Public Dance,
South Africa's funeral and a popular in blue color.
The game is there. Leave the corner colors,
the devices in the ground. Do not worry
about a small risk group. The woman
is spreading, clearly waiting for deep winds.
This question will come from Benji's bed,
a magnificent dog from Kenya. Blooms Beach
Colorful Brain Cucurbitating Cereals
and Roasted Cooking Seduced Saddam Saddam
Falling Fingers Wings Fast Fat False Earth
Sponge Tindado Tijado And
Tuxedo God Smoking Smoking,
Non-Smoking. Nero Gaufi Railway Ladies
Dance Box Women, Women, Women,
Women, Families, Amir Sympat [Jewelry ornament]
in American women, Kenya / United States.
In the United States, dog dogs
with Australian love dogs and
president of Chinese love, dried sardines,
red dogs, four dogs, dog dogs
and redo president have fallen
into the United States. Kenya
Red Natural Natural Italy Odyssey 2020,
United States Tourism Antigua Parper
French Free Seafood Pitt Wave Greece,
Unfortunately, sorry, tort, gray gray,
Greece, 4487/5000 Australia Photo State
Kentucky, Australia, USA We have three
Australian Ambassadors, Erica, George Wish
For Washington 200 200 Supreme
Examination A Simple, Supreme Court Of the United States,
Discarded T mm. Techniques from 9 am to Australia
to change music school game Sometimes the funeral of South
Africa's red, pink, pink, red, green Irish is a bad friend,
do not worry, all Einstein's pastors, Kennedy,
Vitamins, tennis players, Taliban, women, and so on are leaders. . .
In Canada, I found 100 animals as the main problem.
Mark Arthur, Douglas Raid, "Violet Violet" is a silicon fossil;
alcohol is produced in a capillary guitar in Iran,
where at least 200 high school students are not.
America, Best US American, Victim, and Costly
Services George, George Wade, Georgia, California's
Home Fires, Einstein's Labor Force is not in place of Vitamin D
sitting in front of the embryo. Josip Matar:
American artist, American musician, American music, 21:
1 American poet, President of Kenya, Josip Matar:
American artist, American musician, 21:00 Australian composer,
American costume, George Washington
country in South Africa Sometimes, About the Blacks,
Hin, Red, Green, Green, Unique, Einstein, Cowboy,
Kennedy, Vitamin, Passjee, Tent, Italy and Leadership.
No such distortion, such as discussion.
There are 100 problems speaking in Canada:
Mark Arthur Douglas Red "Red Whitney t",
Guitar Master, Iran, 200 students in the highest school.
Crime victims in Greece, United States of America,
better Latin America, Georgia, Georgia, United States,
gay, Einstein, Vitamin D, American singer,
Black Ballad, Romance, Islamic love, Theater City,
Carpathian, Titanic. Latin, Latin and Latin America
and Kenya, Eric, La-la, La, everyday Ladies
are women and girls. Sunday, President, Jack saw,
Mata, Kalka Grue, Red Kenya, Internal Italy,
Justin Odyssey, the most famous animal in the United States.
Music, Ocean, Medicine, Union Association Australia
Australia, USA, Kentucky, Aston Eden, Los Angeles,
Australia, 4487/5000, Australia Coffin Club.

(This post is dedicated to all my followers who still stuck with me after my long hiatus. I'm running low on inspiration these days. I am not a good writer but I'm working towards being one. I hope this post more or less compensates for my long absence.)

A LETTER TO MY LOVER'S FUTURE WIFE

     First things first, he is not my lover. He never has been and probably never will be. But he is very dear to me, and I do not think that I will be forgetting him anytime soon, and thus I considered him my lover. I hope you are okay with that. After all, my thoughts will in no way affect your life. I am writing this letter to congratulate you. You are able to trace the veins on his hands; his pair of hands which I was not privileged enough to touch. Run your fingers over his and remember how soft it is. Only then would it be fair to him because his hands are amazingly sculptured. Remember how they look like, remember how they feel like, even long after he's gone. I would also like to congratulate you for having the chance to see him every day. You see, he has the kind of face you don't get tired of staring at. I hope you notice that. I didn't know faces work that way when you're in love.

     That being said, I would like to pass on several guidelines to you. Guidelines on how to look after this boy. At the time of this letter, we are both eighteen. Young, raw, and still halfway through college. Okay, how do I put this in a nice way. He is light-hearted. Free-spirited. He does what he wants, as long as he is happy. He skips classes often here, I'm not going to deny that. Make sure he doesn't do the same for his work. Force him out of bed and make him go to his ****** job unless he's too sick to sit up. He has a family to feed and children to raise now. Help me shape him into a responsible man. I trust you enough to do this. Also, let him buy his cereals. He will still probably eat it in the morning when he's in a rush, in the evening while he's waiting for you to prepare dinner, and at night when he's too lazy to make supper but too hungry to go to bed after two movies. He makes the most disgusting-tasting oats. I tried it once and it tasted like *****. Trust me, there is nothing you can do about it because he's convinced that it tastes good. Perhaps his tongue has been surgically engineered when he was a fetus. I don't know. Either way, love him for that. But don't let him be the one who makes cereals for the children. Poor, poor children. One more thing, be ready to let his lips touch the mouth of your drinking bottle if he asks for water. He doesn't know how to pour liquid from a bottle without wetting himself. He's an idiot like that.

     Oh, and the air purifier in your room? Clean it once in a while. Make sure the machine works well. He's allergic to dust and I don't know the effects it has on him. And his body can't tolerate coldness that much, so compromise with him and agree on an intermediate temperature, please? Personally, I don't like it too cold either but I do not matter in this context.

     Anyway, I have to go to bed now. It's 1:27AM and I have a class in the morning. I might write another letter to you in the future, I might not. After all, both of us share an extraordinary bond. You are currently in love with someone I used to love. You must have seen the same things I saw in him, probably even more. Maybe I could actually get along with you well, if I could make myself stop wondering what I am lacking every time I look at you.

Get it, India head
This is no bed of roses
Poses in prime positions
Are sublime repetitions
Of what has gone
Before

Karma comes knocking
Knowing
Falling flat on your face
Bindis race
First fast then erased
From your forehead
Forever more

Rickshaws run a mockery
Round rubbled ruins
Of modern mishapes
Monarchy's mistakes, perhaps
Perfect pictures of
Predictable
Misadventures

What everyone tells you
Pre plane departure
Setting one belief in front of another
One foot behind
Is what it does
To your stomach
Shaking heads full of
Heavy sighs

Cares to be taken
Clothes to be carried in case
For climactic changes
Of course
What to withstand
Understand
Undertake
When to be undeterred

When to stand your ground
Back down, barter
Bask
Busk your way through town
What to battle over
Where to bathe and how
When to show the colour
Of your mother's money

How to save a dollar
Raise a rupee
Meditate on more that
You could Be
Do the deed
Be caught in times of need
Phone home and find
No-one waiting for your call

All of this and more
You carry on your back
A rucksack full of love and
Missed kisses
But - the greatest part of this is
What no-one tells you -
What it does
To your heart

What you find
When your mind adjusts
And your eyes unwind
And great gusts of understanding blow you free
When you hand over the key
To your list of demands
And give in
To the easy unplanned

Exploring
Imploring looks
Hook your sympathy
Bait you easily at first
The worst
Are always
The kids
Thing is, how could you deny them?

Soon enough
Is enough
“Sister!”
“Look mister, I ain't no fool
And I ain't a millionaire either -
Leave her alone and go home.”
Thing is, how could you feed them all?

You triumph on trains
Blaspheme the buses
The driver's on drugs
Or a suicide trip
You skip rice-based breakfasts
For weeks
Seek out cereals then
Suddenly...you don't

Chinking chai glasses
Chomping on chocolate
A lot
More than most
Coasting roads
Filled with cows
On a scooter scuffed with sand
And stuffed to bursting point

Dogs with holes in
Infecting imaginations
Over masala dosa
Noses signalling distaste
This taste?
Hmm, tamarind - trees?
Try over there
Between the neem and the new banana circle...

Too many memories to mention
There's always one question
When you return to the beginning
Grinning, they ask
How was it?
But how can you say
It was everything
You've never seen
?

India
Get it?
INDIA!!
Get it India
But be warned...
You may never
Get her
Out-ia
Head

Bonnie squeals as the cart soars past various boxes of cereals and granola bars. She glances at her brother, Clyde, expecting him to share her fright, but is bewildered to see that he is thrashing about in a fit of giggles, enjoying the thrill of the ride. Knuckles white as snow, Bonnie's frail little fingers grasp the side of the red cart with all of their might as her eyes clamp shut. Her heart beats faster than the speed of light, and she questions her motives for agreeing to Clyde's devilish ways.

She reminisces on their earlier arrival at the Local Target. They had come with their mother, planning to do a little grocery shopping and then be on their way. Of course, Clyde had schemed up a way to stray from his mother's side unnoticed. Bonnie still can't fathom how he managed to drag her down with him.

Cautiously, wind whipping through her hair, Bonnie peaks one eye open and instantly regrets it. She let's out an ear - piercing howl as the cart thrusts into a mountain of PopTart boxes large enough to be deemed the Empire State Building's father. She crawls out of the heap only to be met by an eruption of heartfelt laughter spewing from her brother's mocking lips. "You should have seen your face!" Clyde teases as Bonnie sends daggers through his skull.

The two troublemakers step out of the cart and attempt to retrace the way back to their mother. Devastated, they come to the conclusion that the aisles now resemble a maze. As they confidently take on this new challenge and make their way through the unknown, their spirits quickly take a downward spiral upon realizing that they have ended up back where they began. Tired and desperately longing to go home, the two siblings reach a clearing past the aisles and are overjoyed to spy their mother waiting patiently in line at a register with a new cart in hand.

Bonnie and Clyde casually lazy on over to their mother's side and make light conversation as if they had never left.

There is magic in rice cereals.
They dance as baby- fish in boiling pan,
and soon become snowy cool Delphinium.
Boiled grains easily vanish in the mouth,
a mug-full keeps you cool in summer.
Roasted rice is fluffy and light,
par-boiled pressed rice- ready to eat.
Have these as your breakfast treat
or just munch with evening tea.
Are you thin, have insomnia?
Fill your tummy in tones of rice
to gain weight and have peaceful sleep.

8thy May, 2017.

Miryam meets you at the bar
of the base camp in Madrid.
She has an orange juice
and cereals
and a coffee chaser.

Did you sleep o.k?
you ask, sitting beside her,
with a coffee
and toast and cigarette.

Sure,
she says,
afterwards.  

Her eyes light up
like lights
on a pinball machine
when it's played well.

You? she asks,
you sleep all right?
Sure, but the ex-army guy
wasn't too pleased,
me getting back in the tent
at that hour,
you say.

**** him,
she says.
No thanks,
you reply.

She sips the juice,
her lips hold the glass
as she drinks,
her mouth is fish-like
as she swallows.

You talk about
the ex-army guy's moans
about his mother's boyfriend,
how they don't
get along(he
and the boyfriend),
and how he feels
left out and how
he got thrown out
the army because
he was suicidal.

She sips,
and you watched
her eyes feasting on you
as they did
the night before,
and you recall her
******* in
the small space
of her tent,
the girl she shared with
off ******* some guy
she'd met on the coach,
the tall guy
with an Australian accent.

You watched her,
as you disrobed yourself,
the space throwing
you together,
each touching each,
kissing and *******
and kissing.

He still feel suicidal?
she asks.
Guess so,
you say,
tried to talk him
through it all,
laying there
in my sleeping bag,
half asleep,
listening
and talking to him,
eyes closing,
and his voice
becoming a drone.

Anyway,
he seemed happier after,
snoring not long after,
as I was laying there
thinking of you.

She eats the cereal,
talks about the girl
coming back
just after you left,
well ******
and happy,
glassy eyed,
giggling
and stinking of *****.

You sip the coffee,
take in her small ****,
pressing against
her coloured top,
flowers and balloons,
patterns, eye catching.

She begs a smoke
from your packet
and you nod,
and she takes one out
and lights up
from the red
plastic lighter,
the cigarette,
held between her lips,  
kissable lips,
lickable.

Yes, it had been
a good night,
you and she
and someone
strumming a guitar
from the bar,
nearby,
loudly singing,
not far.

I bought carrots, and kale,
coconut oil that was on sale
avocados, and blue berries,
vitamin supplements
in a desire to stay healthy
out of fear of my mortality.

But I miss donuts
and sugar coated cereals.
I miss monster energy drinks,
taco pizzas, and cheeseburgers.

I miss what was killing me slowly,
suicide by snail’s place.
I once raced to gain weight.
Now I eat things I hate,
longing for something dangerous on my plate.

..
Mouth full of semi-raw fried potatoes and
dehydrated orange wheels, doesn't Mr. Appleseed come out of
nowhere
and plant a speck of a seed right smack dab in the centre of my
reptilian cortex, but I
pay no mind because Buddy has adored me for a whole five minutes until he rebounds
              harder
                        than an
                                    addict discharged
                                                    fr­om
                                                        forest-y­ methadone clinics
                                                        i­n downtown cores
                                                        pop­pin' Hilfiger blue collars
                                                        y­ackin' it on the phones to guys named D, or
                                                        D yackin' it to guys named Friendo, Jai, or
                                                        Little­ Tim,
                                                        buri­ed from ******* back too much hillbilly
                                                       ­ ******, while
                                                        col­lege girls sleep in their Sahara beds,
                                                        sav­ing up to buy bouncy trampolines with
                                                        boun­cy cheques,
                                                        ­listening to lullaby coos of pimps and ******
                                                        on­ the downstairs couch,
                                                        ga­zing fawn-eyed at cavediums next to
                                                        nobody cares muffins and syrup-y coffee
                                                        canyoudropmeoff?
                                             ­           outside of the seventh-story window of
                                                        million dollar saloons,
                                                        ­wearing blings and rings,
                                                        purchase­d by wealthy husbands and
                                                        travelin­g yuppies for their wives' veneer,
                                                        eating breakfast cereals that go
                                                        Snap! Crackle! Pop!
                                                        for three square meals,
                                                        re­furbishing plastic containers
                                                        on foot-stained broadloom,
                                                        with cage and cagey roommates,
                                                        throwing life rafts to bloated bodies in
                                                        Great Lakes
                                                        for the price of a debt,
                                                        recalling waffling road trips,
                                                        visiting one-man tents behind billowing
                                                        smokestacks;
                                                        I blew my brains out in an air duct,
                                                        lost my life lifting up heavy floor mattresses,
                                                        climbing out of basement windows,
                                                        while hitch hiking mothers sing karaoke
                                                        nursery rhymes by Janis Joplin,
                                                        20 notes off-key,
                                                        harboring skeletons in stairwells and rusted
                                                        out Grand Ams,
                                                        making friends in Tim Hortons after last call,
                                                        dressed in leprechaun fatigue,
                                                        driving like England at midnight,
                                                        I spoke to a faceless man,
                                                        whom I'll never get a chance to send a
                                                                ­               thank you
                                                       card...
                                                       as for me? I never touched the stuff

but I was too spent to care and was already floating on cheap Chardonnay and authentic vitamin D with my bindle stuffed to the brim so I thought I'd just American Beauty plastic bag my way through this one, cropped in floral, patio sunglasses, swirling and twirling on Ballet Boulevard until
An e.ch-o-y sound in my
left  ear
I turned my head,
slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed,
        the testa bursts open.
..

Sunlight seeps in
glass windows all
and yet with blinds drawn,
"click'..put on
the electric light,
gives a worthy feeling,
of course
sort of false pride!
The mirror reflects
a haunted look
insomnia
on the face,
mirror, mirror tell me true
so saying
put on more lipstick
more rouge and mascara
Nina Ricci perfume!

Toothpaste
Colgate advanced formula,
or else brushing futile
breakfast cereals
latest blends
tea labelled "Twining"
I-phone pocketed,
boutique shop clothes
stilettos clicking
you get started
feeling good
racing the sports car,
race as if
borrowed happiness
will escape,
its after all
everyday happiness
on a lucky credit card
older bills
still pending,
still pending!!
and yet
these everyday happiness
keeps you going!

I have come to a conclusion.

We are in an endless cycle.

We wake up and think about food.
We eat sugary cereals for breakfast
so we go to school or work thinking about food.

Afterschool, we watch food and beauty advertisements
that make us feel bad about ourselves,
so what do we do?
Shop for food and clothes to make us
"feel better" and to "fill the void."

After shopping, we get tired and watch television
where we, yet again, shovel even MORE food
into our lifeless pieholes.

We also don't want to cook anything,
so our meals consist of Campbell's soups, frozen pizzas and leftovers of whatever casserole is in the house.

Even after eating dinner, we are tempted to eat more,
so we have DESSERT!

Because of our constantly on-the-go lifestyle, half the time we are not even conscious of what we're eating.

Ironically, yet predictably, we go to sleep thinking about what we will have for breakfast the next day.

Yiska rests on her bed,
smoking a cigarette.

The sky is dull,
the room darkened.

She inhales,
watches the smoke,
she's just exhaled,
rise ceiling wards.

Her husband is out,
fishing, *******,
who knows, or cares.

She exhales again,
at times like this
she reflects
on her young days,
her schoolgirl years.

Naaman was a love
back then.

School crush thing
some thought.

But no,
more than that.

She inhales so deeply
that it seems
her whole body
is filled
with nicotine and smoke.

Naaman kissed good.

That time on the field.
Lips and tongue.

She exhales and smiles.

He'd be in his 30s now,
a year older than she.

She can still,
if she shuts her eyes at night,
see him as he was.

Even when her husband
is giving her a quickie,
she thinks on Naaman,
imagines it's him on top,
not her husband's sad efforts.

She inhales
and closes her eyes.

He is there
in her mind still.

Even on the day
she married,
she hoped Naaman
would show
and whisk her away
on the back
of a motorcycle,
her white dress
flapping in the wind,
she giving her groom
to be, an up you sign
of *******.

But he didn't show.

She knew he wouldn't;
she'd not seen
since he left school,
the year before she.

Moved away some place.

She exhales
and smiles out smoke.

When she goes shopping
in other towns,
she wonders
if she'll meet Naaman there,
bump into him
on an aisle,
next to cereals or cheeses.

She recalls that time
in the school between lessons,
seeing him,
and wanting him
to drag her into some room
and kiss her
and do things.

But he just smiled
and walked on
and into a classroom,
leaving her hot
and gagging for it
(a term some girls
used back then).

What if he had?
Some empty room
in the school?
That day would have been
burned into her memory
if he had.

As it was,
she walked on,
to her boring art class,
bubbling
with upset hormones.

She sighs,
opens her eyes,
and moans.

(Fargo put the body of Bella in a mantle and took her on his shoulders. He left Chiara, Francesca, Rosa and Pedra ashore and went together with Geraldine, Maya, Carla, Erica and Naimah's son to find a village. The name of Naimah’s son was Surak.)

It looked like a long beach with a rocky shore and a hidden
Cove; they turned right walking along the sandy beach; at the far
End of the beach, they saw a galley, but it was forbidden
To follow the path leading to the shore, ''I'll ask where we are, '' ''

Said Fargo while looking through a telescope, ''What do you see? ''
''There's one man standing on the deck; he's the companion
Of that pirate following us and traveling free.''
''How do you know this? '' ''I worked for him in the devil's canyon.

The flag has a boom skull, '' ''Let's go, '' said Geraldine, ''The pirates
Are coming from this ship, '' said Fargo, ''I must set it on fire.''
While sneaking to that deck, he killed one by one the pilots
And the third sailor; he thought, ’’ Frederick is caught in a snare.’’


Fargo took the little treasure from that ship and those two maps
Showing the place from where the treasure had been taken
And the island where they intended to hide it; perhaps
It was a known place, which was visited and forsaken.


He did not set the ship on fire because he was afraid
That its flames could be seen by the pirates; he did not sink it
'Cause they could dive to the sea's bottom to find the treasure's shade.
To make them think that one of them betrayed was in a fit,


Fargo took one of their boats and returned to the shore.
Then, they continued to go while avoiding the main path.
They stopped walking to look at the seagulls starting to soar.
They entered an old olive grove shining in the daylight bath.


Following their narrow route to the right, they found a fragrant
Grove of tall eucalyptus trees; they saw the shepherds' trail,
Which was cobbled and flanked by stonewalls, '' Our life became vagrant, ''
Said Carla; Erica replied, '' my strength begins to fail.''


'' Look at these flowers of asphodel! They are beautiful, ''
Said Maya; Erica replied, '' these dark cypress trees are
An inviting resting place; '' you must be powerful, ''
Said Fargo, '' because to find a village, we have to go far.''


At the top end of this rocky land, they turned left to enter
A small, agricultural zone that was planted with
Cereals and having some plots of chickpeas in its center.
Some goats were drinking water from a reservoir, ''It's a myth, ''


Said Surak; they drank water together with the goats
And washed their faces; after crossing the road, the saw
The church tower of the village near the plots of oats.
They bought an old stone manor house when the night started to draw.

(Fargo went to find a priest for Bella’s funeral. He came back with a promise for the next day. They started to eat in silence.)

(To be continued…)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

You met Janice
going to Baldly's groceries
to get a list of goods
for your mother

how goes it?
you asked
Gran tanned
my backside yesterday

for going
on the bomb site
when she had told me
not to

Janice said
sorry I got
you into trouble
you said

not your fault
I’m responsible
for my own actions
she said

I knew Gran
had told me
not to go
but I chose

to disobey
so paid the price
guess she's annoyed
with me too

you said
I didn't say
who was with me
she said

how did she find out ?
a neighbour saw me
and told her
I was on a bomb site

with other kids
and that was it
where you going?
you asked

got to buy
some cereals
for breakfast
she said
going to Baldly's groceries

but not to get any
with those
free toys inside
why's that?

Gran said it's a gimmick
how about going
to the cinema
this afternoon?

you asked
can't
she said
not allowed

after yesterday
she said
shame
you said

got a good western on
and the good guy
has two guns
and has a neat way

of going for his guns
which I want to copy
and practice
she looked sad

I'd liked to
she said
but maybe
another time

when I'm out
of the dog house
sorry
about the trouble

I've landed you in
you said
my fault
mea culpa

as they say
in mass
mea culpa ?
you said

it means my fault
in Latin
she said
I got my backside tanned

once for peeing
in my toy box
you said
she looked shocked

peed in your toy box?
yes I was trying
to impress a cousin
but he told on me

and that was it
I never told
on you yesterday
she said

thank you
you said
she kissed your cheek
best get on

with the shopping
she said
ok
you said

and so she went
in Baldy's with you
and did the shopping
and afterwards

you walked back
your separate ways
after a few words of farewell
and a wave of hands

hoping to see her
again sometime
after her punishment
for the petty crime.

my worries remain.  my double is moving up the ladder.  you think he is me and your thought is convincing.  I know I have a skirt because I’m wearing one.  the youtube video displays a duration of 5:11.  my mother pops in with a bag of sugary cereals.  there are great lengths that end with my father’s open mouth.  I am heartbroken that in the video the SUV has tinted windows behind which a daughter is supposedly processing the beating her dad takes at the booted heels of bikers.  if my double has a second life, I dream it.

"I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor.
That's my dream. It's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering,
along the edge of a straight razor … and surviving."
–  Col. Kurtz, Apocalypse Now
~

Remember
the golden age, Wally ***?
And the songs
my mother taught me?

We sang about what was.
Or might never be.

Like permanency.
Distinction comes
out of stiff and frozen silences.
Take it with
a spoonful of disdain.
Take it in the eye.
Actors are like breakfast cereals.
They're obvious
and according to taste.
I stopped needing them
long ago.

Beautiful
Tallulah.
Beautiful,
"less to this than
meets the eye"
Tallulah,
dismiss me,
that I may be free
to find Tennessee.

Open windows
and closing doors.
Always a breeze,
but never a way out.
Right on cue
the cards shuffle.

Butter and cotton *****,
tricks of the trade.
I mumble to be heard.
I am legend
to disciples
of the Method.

I wear my friends to bed,
burn them like newspaper.
They call me "Bud"
—cigarettes at dawn
after devouring the night.
And now my song ebbs,
as the stylus hits the leadout groove.

Tomorrow, I'll be better.
Today, I'm just me.

You have boxes of cereals
I have boxes of crime,
Don't worry about it
I am not like that serial killer vine.

My boxes are not illegal
But regarded as trek,
I designate them as crime
Because it's done on beck.

The first crime is universal
Which is eating during a class,
And if you get caught
You will get a detention to pass.

Second needs a little courage
Which is bunking the lab,
And you will roam the whole school with friends
Without hiring a cab.

This crime is something planned
Distracting teacher from her study point,
Asking tales about their life struggle
Because we got bored from her english coined.

This crime is nothing less than others
Which is cheating during a test,
Not everyone will accept that
Because not everytime it did help them to score their best.

If you start to count them all
It will take your whole life to wind,
You created memories that are crime
Which you won't ever mind!