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Post A Day
The Ruined Stairs
I got a little lost
on my way up the ruined stairs
Once I saw a shrouded figure here
and I know it saw me too.
But we passed each other like time, like death
and we never spoke a word.
I got a little lost
on my way up the ruined stairs
I wonder if I’ll ever reach the top
and what I will find
up there.
Are We A Little Cross Today?
The DailyPost
My Facebook Page
Mocks my Blog
” Everyone loves me. I’m sexy and cool”
My Blog doesn’t care. It knows it’s true. It’s dateless and lonely.
If it had feet, it would be wearing the wrong shoes.
” I wish I could be like you, ” my Blog says with a sigh “You’re so fun to look at and your wit is sublime.”
My Facebook page flicks it hair over it’s shoulder and lifts up it chin. It looks down on my blog and says, ” I am cool I am in.”
” You don’t know what sublime means, do you?” my Blog says breaking out of rhyme.
” Screw you. I get likes and I get hearts and cakes.”
” But you don’t know what sublime means do you.”
The Amazing Bee Girl
DAILY PROMPT
Circus
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt
When I was growing up I was the kid who fell out of trees, got lost in the airport, rode my bike on the ice during the winter and slid out of control right into traffic.
When I was almost four years old I got bees in my hair and my Mom had to pull them out one at a time with her fingers ( without getting stung) while my Dad ran in and out of the house screaming something about calling the Fire Department.
I watched my Mom flick one of the bees into the bushes.
” What is in your hair?” she asked.
” Bees” I said.
” You know what I mean.”
” Orange Soda Pop”
My Mom slid another bee off the side of my head.
” How did you get Pop in your hair?”
” I wanted my hair to be orange so ” I mimed washing my hair with my hands.
” Well, your hair isn’t orange, it’s full of bees. Are you getting stung?”
I was listening to the buzzing that was floating around my face. ” No.” I said trying not to laugh.
My Mom got the bees out- she said she pulled about eight of them out of my hair and as luck would have it neither one of us got stung.
I’m not clear on how it happened but my Dad got stung.
Twice.
After the de-beeing was complete and my hair was washed I ran around the house for the rest of the evening buzzing like a bee and when I did as much as look at a bottle of pop I’d crack up and start to laugh.
My Dad watched me running around in circles buzzing like a swarm of killer bees in one tiny little body.
He said to my Mom, ” Maybe we should sell her to the circus.”
” She IS a Circus.” my Mom said lighting up a cigarette as I buzzed my way up over the back the couch she was sitting on.
Somehow I fell and got stuck between the back of the couch and the wall and all you could see was my foot sticking up over the top.
I buzzed until I was freed.
For my own special reasons, I didn’t go near a circus until I was almost 18 years old.
You know, just in case the family made good on the circus threat…and over the years I gave them plenty of reasons to consider that option.
Taken After I Was “de=bee’d”