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Bill Floyd's Blog – November 2011 Archive (7)
Pepper
If you don't obey, you'll get a facefull of my hot pepper.
If I'm delayed, you'll taste the spray of my hot pepper.
Over strip malls and suburban sprawl floats the pall of hot pepper.
It used to be spice, now it makes us play nice--hot pepper.
If I can't see, I can't disagree--hot pepper.
If I can't breathe, I can't believe--hot pepper.
Added by Bill Floyd on November 26, 2011 at 11:25am — 6 Comments
Process/Product
Sometime during the restless night he thought of the term "vegetable indifference" and he smiled because that just about said it all, but he didn't roll over and write it down on the pad he kept on his bedside table. In the half-tone morning he knew he'd forgotten something important, and wondered why he was beset by the image of a hollowed gourd.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
She took him in with a…
ContinueAdded by Bill Floyd on November 22, 2011 at 11:21am — 5 Comments
Among the Rest
The leaf danced down through the November air, led by its stem pivoting to rest among the millions of other leaves, all similar yet distinct, a strewn pattern suggesting nothing so random as the very nature of the world.
The graveyard may seem stratified up top, from the fanciest mausoleum to the blandest headstone in Potter's Field, but down below the worms say we mostly taste the same. Decay is socialism in action, and all accounts are hereby settled.
A…
ContinueAdded by Bill Floyd on November 18, 2011 at 9:59am — 8 Comments
Don't Talk Me Down
You show up at my door all jabber and shine. I've seen this phase of yours before, and I swore that last time would be the last time, but we both know how that song goes. After the clench and thrall, we sprawl spent on this bed, a moment's peace paid in full. I smooth sweaty strands of hair from your forehead and you tell me I'm your last best secret.
I am like a music lover going deaf. In the silence of memory I'll get the melody all wrong, but I can't keep…
ContinueAdded by Bill Floyd on November 11, 2011 at 11:00am — 8 Comments
Maybe if They Were Placemats
We watched from our picnic blanket, wonderstruck and bemused, as three rugs came spiraling down out of the noontime sky, curling to earth in billows of ruby and damask rose and the most regal of royal blues, gilded tassels flawlessly knotted.
The djinni floated down beside us a few minutes later, his own conveyance a gold bolt of velvet still trailing sparkling dust. "I lost my novices in the smog over Burbank," he explained, stroking his braided beard. "That's the thing…
ContinueAdded by Bill Floyd on November 6, 2011 at 12:26pm — 10 Comments
Mapping
He knows the neighborhood's layout by now. Three weeks he's been watching the Robinsons come and go, and last week he stepped right up to the back windows. They don't turn on their alarm system until they're ready for bed; Mom and Dad in the master bedroom upstairs, Sydney in the east bedroom downstairs, Cory in the bedroom across the hall. He's mapped escape routes in case things go wrong, but they won't go wrong. A few hours from now he will drive slowly down the 35-mph streets, riding…
ContinueAdded by Bill Floyd on November 4, 2011 at 11:18am — 11 Comments
Escorted Out
At first she thought Dave was calling her into his office to discuss the Phelps account, but as soon as she saw the security guard and that prim little tart from HR, she knew.
"This is not a reflection on your performance," Dave assured her, "it's just management is restructuring the entire team, and the position's been eliminated."
They gave her a box for her personal items. After nine years, there were quite a few strewn around the cubicle: photos of Frank…
ContinueAdded by Bill Floyd on November 2, 2011 at 9:50am — 9 Comments
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