Backseat Driver on Soundcloud

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Minced Lies

Anna Ghislena

Original image from AgeUK

I’m sure there’s a dusting of icing

in the saliva resting on my chin.

You’re looking at it, aren’t you?

It’s ok, nurse can brush it away

if you don’t’ want to touch my skin.

You look a little warm,

your face all rosy and good to see,

with a smile

unaccustomed to lethargy

manifesting under blanketed knees

that feel the cold so keenly.

No, it’s a smile too wide,

it has all to hide,

so wide it might tear your face in two.

“Two weeks ago”, you sigh,

“it’s just flying by;

long office hours and the builders are in..”

But you see,

time hasn’t clipped it’s wings for me

and I’m sure it wasn’t two weeks ago

but four, maybe three.

You said you’d come and here you are,

“Just a short stop because

Christmas shopping is never done;

the dog’s home alone with…

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Minced Lies

Original image from AgeUK

I’m sure there’s a dusting of icing

in the saliva resting on my chin

You’re looking at it, aren’t you?

It’s ok, nurse can brush it away

if you don’t’ want to touch my skin

You look a little warm,

your face all rosy and good to see

with a smile

unaccustomed to lethargy

manifesting under blanketed knees

No, it’s a smile too wide

it has all to hide

so wide it might tear your face in two

“Two weeks ago”, you sigh

“it’s just flying by;

long office hours and the builders are in..”

But you see

time hasn’t clipped it’s wings for me

and I’m sure it wasn’t two weeks ago

but four, maybe three

You said you’d come and here you are

“Just a short stop because

Christmas shopping is never done

the dog’s home alone with the cat…”

you pause

“…it’s a shame we don’t have long to chat.”

Giving the gift of minced lies

crafted for the good and hopeful child

who thinks a Bogeyman waits around a corner

that Santa’s footprints left some grime

that Tooth Fairy swapped the dirty molar

and we go to Heaven when it is our time

© Anna Ghislena 2014

Rumpled Silk Skin

Image from a collection of illusion art at http://www.alef.net

The Queen regarded herself closely in the mirror.   Deep lines cut cruelly across traces of beauty as the Botox wore off again.

Gazing bitterly at cold creams and serums before her, she feared that rich men chose to marry younger women, like her only beautiful daughter.

The dead King had played away his fortune of gold thread, just as her father had gambled with her life.

It was time to make a bargain.

“What is the cost this time?” she asked, afraid.

The little man stood there, fingering rings into his chin hair.

“I think we said your firstborn child?”

By Anna Ghislena

In celebration of World Book Day this week the 100 Word Challenge here was prompted by the idea of giving alternative endings to traditional fairy tales.  Click to take part yourself!

Backseat Driver

A photograph by David Kozlowski

When I am old I shall drive a Fiat Punto

and keep a rug and basket on the back seat

with a flask and biscuits, for emergencies.

Time will be mine without you my dear;

my second pair of eyes in left hand command.

I shall be regal and heads will turn

at my rinse, set and finish so trim, and

I shall cruise, at twenty two, down the main road through town,

with an entourage processing behind.

I shall signal well before left or right is in sight and

turn with due diligence and care.

I shall reverse or nose dive at an angle when parking;

a precise ninety degree demonstration.

Yes, time will be mine without you my dear,

to gauge our distance and schedule.

No kids to taxi and no nine to five rush hour.

No trains or planes to dash for.

The engine won’t squeal with a foot to the floor, it will purr and function serenely.

The flask will stay in its place, all the way,

to the library, bowls or the doctor.

Yes, time will be mine, without you my dear and

I’ll tune into classical radio.

My hair still regal; not a grey out of place,

I shan’t break too hard or too late.

Yes, time will be mine without you my dear

but I would miss you, my dear, with you not here.

So before I am old, with my hair all regal, driving my Fiat Punto,

let’s jump the lights and turn up the volume,

greet the wind in our faces and hair.

Love me again on the old squeaky backseat;

sleep out, when we should be at home.

Guitars all blazing with a foot to the floor and

thundering drums keeping time with the revs.

“I am, truly sorry, Officer, Sir,

I had no idea of the speed limit in place.”

Yes, time should be ours, my love, my dear,

To witness sunrise through the mirror’s rear view;

the seats all sticky with the times of yesterday,

my hair not regal, and all out of place.

© Anna Ghislena 2014.