Mother Bea sits in her wooden rocking chair on the rickety varandah. She is placed there every morning. She does not walk. She must be over 80 years old. Even her kids were old. When you are little, everybody is old! I watch her as she watches the daily interactions of the children in the yard. She would make one word prouncements on the goings-on.
Cry baby. Smart. Determined. Thick skull. I often wondered how she arrived at these critiques from such a distance. And more often, just who she was talking about!
at times it’s futile
figuring out which spirit
whisper the loudest
in their attempts to guide me –
probably pointless, thick skull!
For Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday
Where the prompt is synonyms for :
Ghost & Hollow
Summer in the city, driving in Manhattan we stopped at an intersection. Waiting among the throngs to cross was a gorgeous six foot four inch Scotsman. Trust me, I know 6ft 4in when I see it) He was in full kilt regalia. Portia yells from the back,
“Hey baby! What you got under that skirt?”
“It’s a quilt you nut”, Gwen piped in
“Nooo! It’s a kilt”, Michelle chimed in.
Portia went on, “Don’t worry ’bout it, he knows what I’m talking about.
Look at that smile!”
By now most of the people at the intersection that was politely not staring at this hunk, now had license to do so. And they were absorbing the interactions between all of the occupants of the car and this hunk of a man. He was blushing all over.
Yeah, he did turn crimson red. And that smile!! We all roared with laughter, even the passersby.