Cherrypicked stories

twenty four

from my first collection of poetry

Speed Poem

I can't help staring at you. At the long scar that works its way down the side of your left leg. You're wearing a red dress and I sit in the dark, huddled with my chin on my knees. Sometimes I think you must be a magic woman because the fire is almost too hot even from my position, and you're no more than an arm's length away. Your clothes should have caught fire by now, but you don't seem bothered by the heat at all. And as you continue to dance around the furnace, closer than anyone else can manage, twirling your red dress so that the flames try to lick the hem, I can only think about your scar.

poem

Two time story of the day. Burying a dead man's car! The very idea was ridiculous. The most interesting experiences were meant to be in the past now. Life was meant to be settled. http://www.cooperking.co.uk

twenty three

one

On reflection was it justified?