Sunday, May 12, 2013

Sunday Prompts

Jack Sherman's word today is miasma.

He is thinking of the morningfaint stench of misplaced body fluids

Feet and toenails, armpits, visitors

Lies, protestations, fabrications and confabulations

Fingers flexing, intellects and raw ape.

The sky is so black it throbs

Samson Akibile drives the tractor

The silk-finished beige floor, the semi-naked store.

She realises there are no sanitary towels here

The girls is looking at pictures of Diana.

MI5 MI6 Oxbridge grinfucks out to sanitise

Jack needs another word for tomorrow night

But he must get his three hours in, that's the point of all this.

The morning is delicate, a light lemon-tanged coolness lifting of the river.

He takes the steps down to the river and walks away.

Jack drives the two miles home.

Menses briefly catches his eye, as does meninx and mêlée    
The scarred tutsi is already there when Jack arrives

Jack takes a breath and looks up at the hanging darkness

He sees Samson finger the scars on his face

It begins then. They talk little, then some.

They talk of Africa but only in terms of heat and cold, of animals

The night the men came

He begins to talk, softly, flatly

How to kill with a machette

A very black, very tall man with scars

Jack thinks of the river that runs behind the store, along to Samson's apartment.

Jack doesn't trust the sky.

It's not like Jack to forget details.

Jack goes inside, away from the night

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