Lordy, lordy, what’s the world coming to? A query always pondered. My veranda faces the sea and the beat of the waves pulse against the present. Imagine… celebrities selling candles that smell like their private parts. What will be next? And pffft… look at this one hobbling into court with a cheap walker supported by tennis balls wanting everyone to know how feeble and impoverished he is. Hope he gets many a visit in the clink by butch bikers on the quest for love.
Time slides by and the communiqués a keep rollin’. Murders, rapes an arson or two. Terrorists and pernicious viruses travelling our sphere. Reckon, I’m lucky to be where I am with the gulls a croaking and the ocean stretching, far from the pulse of mainstream life.
That bully is still in office, tweeting and ranting spewing maniacal commentaries like some just-released sociopath. All the coin spent on that circus could have nourished a small nation. What’s to become… I’m lucky to live in this distant hamlet. Camouflaged by fog and watched over by legions of black crows that bark from tree to tree, sometimes a visit by the odd sea beast on this vast stretch on beach.
I’m back to that candle again with all the blended scents: geranium, citrus, cedar, damask rose to name a few. I’m thinking about the sort of fools who buy these products. Imagining some sorry soul sitting in a dim-lit room. The only source of light is from that candle spewing its concocted pudenda. Does he feel connected to that woman. Imagining her sitting next to him, whispering in his ear. Asking – so whatcha think?
I think it’s better to stay clear of headlines, rarely a comforting word. I’ll stick to brine and barnacles. What is definite and true. A foghorn and forever horizon for my daily dish.
© Susan E. Lloy
Susan E. Lloy is the author of two short story collections, But When We Look Closer (2017) and Vita (2019). She writes about unconventional characters who exist on the edges of ordinary life. She lives in Montreal.