Scribbled Thoughts

I always mishear

and imagine we’re traveling on

Garglehead Road.

I wonder if people here

gargle as they walk down the street

or if it’s for special events,

like a strange egg and spoon race,

but with more gargling.

My husband shakes his head

with an indulgent smile

and keeps driving.

Prompt: Street signs

Hesitate to unlatch

for as long as you can,

one more arm swing,

a few more steps as you undress

to register a little more progress

so that when your watch rests at your bedside

the display will make you proud,

show you’ve earned this rest.

Everything is awesome,

everything is cool when you’re falling apart,

everything is awesome

when you’ve wasted your day off.

(I had the song from the Lego movie stuck in my head, so I changed the lyrics while I was cleaning my teeth to reflect my mood of the day 😅)

The sky is strange

bright and unforgiving

shifting with the mood of the weather

and subjecting those below to its results.

Everything is heavy,

the dirt, the structures,

your own body,

cemented by gravity

and limited in its movements.

All you can do is wait here,

wait and pray the world will be kind today.

Pray one day you’ll have control.

Prompt: Home planet (imagine you are from another planet, stuck on earth, longing for home).

Clink at their defences

hear the soft sound of resistance

and judge its harshness,

or encouragement.

Tap a little harder

with a blunt tool,

something deceptive that

won’t raise alarms.

The first crack will come

and you must wait,

wait and see if the

other side breaks through

to greet you

or needs to retreat back

for a little longer.

Eight months of care and skill

were poured into its creation,

a harmless replica, its blade

made of newspaper, stuck together

with paper marche

and decorated with paint.

A weekend showing off

to like-minded nerds

was its debut eight years ago.

Now it sits damaged in

the spare room, waiting to be

slathered with coated newspaper,

bound together and painted anew.

It has been waiting for a long time.

It sits on your tongue

and melts in your senses,

rich and full so its taste

rests on your being,

absorbs into your life

and produces new determination.

The day’s weight rests on eyelids

forcing a battle to keep them open,

a struggle you shouldn’t engage in,

one you always regret in the morning,

but you fight anyway,

to make the day feel more fulfilled

less wasted,

more memorable.

You wake gulping, choking

on dryness and struggling to swallow

fear you can’t breathe,

until your brain reprimands,

points out your nose.

You lie there, swallow carefully

fearing too big a chance will

begin the painful coughing.

Water waits at the bedside

to restore the parched land.

Just don’t drown in the process.