No Space To Grieve

A pigeon, newly dead,
on the shoulder of the highway,
slaughtered by a passing car.
The bloody heap, still warm,
sprawled on the pavement
while its mate flutters about.

Wanting to be sure,
to give one farewell caress.
The fierce flow of traffic
chases her away repeatedly,
yet she keeps coming back.

How cruel that she gets
not one moment of peace
alone with her lost mate,
no space to grieve.

My response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt today: Bird

 

Mini Fiction Mix

For the past few days I’ve been choosing stories for my next book of mini fiction tales. Yesterday I applied for the ISBN. As soon as I get that lined up I’ll announce the title.

Some of the stories that appear in the fiction section here will be included in the book, such as the one about the Multi-tasking Motorist. And here’s one of my Friday Fictioneers posts that I’ve reworked and plan to include in the upcoming mix.

Harbour

Image from Pixabay

Harbour Secrets

From the third storey of the Customs Office Marv Sallens stared down at the busy harbour scene below, watching ships of every size streaming in and out of the busy port. “I wonder how many ships down there are running drugs,” he muttered.

Andy turned to his senior manager standing by the window. “What makes you…. Oh, hey. I’m really sorry, Marv.”

Marv gave a quick nod and turned to go, an icy anger replacing his usual grin. Stepping through the exit door he suddenly stopped and slammed his fist into the door frame.

Chance, the junior clerk looked up, shocked. Marv flexed his hand and walked out without another word. Chance turned to Andy. “What was that all about?”

“Last week they found Marv’s grandson and his fiancee dead in his apartment,” Andy explained. “They’d taken that new street drug…the one cops have been warning the public about.”

Chance swore softly. “I’ve heard about that one. Powerful…but I’ve heard it’s pretty risky. So that’s why Marv’s so torn up.”

“His grandson got his PhD this spring and just landed a great job. Apparently they were celebrating.”

Chance shook his head, seeing again Marv’s hand hitting the frame. He thought of his own parents, imagined how they’d react to something like that. A few minutes later he headed for the toilet…and flushed four white tablets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comments and critique welcome. 🙂

From the Heart of a Hospital Chaplain

I just read Pastor J S Park’s latest post and realized that NO ONE blogs from the heart more than he does. Chaplain in a Florida hospital, he deals with life and death and grief every day, and writes about it in an open, compassionate way.

This morning’s post is a perfect example. We Say Goodbye, One More Time. What does a parent finally do when the prodigal child refuses to give up a life-threatening habit? Take a moment and read it — it will definitely touch your heart.

Then read his post Five Husbands. All the loving words we wanted to say! One day it will be too late to express affection and appreciation.

Note: Be sure there’s a box of of tissues handy before you start.

The Broken Drum

Drum

THE BROKEN DRUM

by Edgar Guest

There is sorrow in the household;
there’s a grief too hard to bear;
there’s a little cheek that’s tear-stained
there’s a sobbing baby there.
And try how we will to comfort,
still the tiny teardrops come;
for – to solve a vexing problem–
Curly Locks has wrecked his drum.

It had puzzled him and worried,
how the drum created sound;
for he couldn’t understand it.
It was not enough to pound
with his tiny hands and drumsticks
and at last the day has come
when another hope is shattered,
now in ruins lies his drum.

With his metal bank he broke it,
tore the tightened skin aside,
gazed on vacant space bewildered,
then he broke right down and cried.
For the broken bubble shocked him
and the baby tears must come;
now a joy has gone forever;
Curly Locks has wrecked his drum.

While his mother tries to soothe him
I am sitting here alone.
In the life that lies behind me
many shocks like that I’ve known.
And the boy who’s upstairs weeping
in the years that are to come
will learn that many pleasures
are as empty as his drum.

From the book Just Folks,
by Edgar A. Guest
© 1917 by The Reilly & Britton Co.

My response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt: CHALLENGE

I really enjoy prompt words like this; they can call up such a variety of responses!