This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 33 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post,
also prompt 22 at Writer’s Island,
and prompt #135 at One Single Impression.
Over The Edge
•
From down there, down there,
it’s coming from down there.
From where — down there?
Yes Sis, I swear!
That horrible smell
that’s filling the air,
the one that’s most certainly
impossible to bear,
is coming from that women
with the massive blue hair
sitting alone on the patio chair,
on the deck of the house,
that’s below us — right there!
What a putrid aroma,
you’d think that she’d care.
There are simply some things
that one never should share,
like the stink that is rising
from that patio chair,
on the deck of the house
that’s below us down there.
And the hideous color
of that mountain of hair —
I can’t help it, can’t help it,
I can’t help but stare.
It’s a tangled and horrible monument to
a disgusting and eye-blinding
shade of bright blue —
and it’s causing a feeling of nausea too!
I must look away my heads starting to whirl,
and I feel that my toes are beginning to curl,
I fear over the edge here I’m going to hurl —
and I don’t want to do that in front of a girl.
Maybe I’m wrong
but I would assume,
if one’s going to bathe
in a noxious perfume,
they’d at least have the manners
to exhibit some pride,
and not foul the ozone,
instead — stay inside.
Not to be the forecaster
of gloom and of doom,
but keep the eco-disaster
contained to one room.
And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
consider the others that you might offend.
A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
is not something I care to look at on you!
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
Mag 33
