Prompt: haiku ‘ice’
summer’s sun fading,
glaciers march south, unstoppable
we flee before them
frozen over, our crops fail
we eat everything
then we eat our dead
and stumble ever southward
dreading the white ice
on the equator
we pray for growing season
beg the sun’s return
Prompt: noun – child, verb – run, adjective – hairy, adverb – quietly
the hairy child, Melvin, ran from his father, and the barber. he hid quietly in a dumpster, avoiding the buzzing clippers.
the fairy of the garbage dump, wings glistening in the morning sun, had told him he was a changeling, a lost prince of the Summer Court, hidden from the Queen of Air and Darkness. she wanted to bewitch him, and put him on the Summer Throne as her puppet.
if his hair was trimmed, even on single hair, the glamour on him would be broken, and the Queen would find him.
Melvin the Fairy Prince cowered in the dumpster, trying to decide if he was more frightened of his human father, or the Queen.
he picked up a rotting banana peel, and used it to make the garbage fairy’s sigil on the dumpster wall.
“Catshit … Catshit … i need your help!” Melvin called. “Dad wants my hair cut, what am i to do?”
Prompt: “when the judge came down, poured whiskey on my head, turned me around to the jury, and said, “convict this man, he’s drunk”, what could i do?” – excerpt from ‘Framed’
1975, i was traveling through Texas on my way to my brother’s, in Phoenix. i didn’t have a car, so i worked some place, got some money together, and would walk til i ran out of cash. then stop, and find another job.
i’d been on the road for a little over three months, on my way from Florida, when i came to Candleburg, Texas. as my money was almost gone, i got a job at the diner, washing dishes.
that was the night someone set the Candleburg First Methodist Church on fire, and it burned to the ground.
so i got blamed. i had an inconvenient non-alibi – i’d been alone, sleeping in the alley behind the diner, and no one had seen me.
i got sent to jail for 25 years.
that got stretched some. fights i didn’t start, but had to finish, and it was 2017 when i got out.
18 when i went in, 60 when i come out.
i’m standing in that same alley again, middle of the night.
i didn’t set anything on fire back in ’75.
but i’m burning Candleburg to the goddamn ground tonight.
listening to: ‘The Drums of War’, Daniel Pemberton, “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” soundtrack
mood: productive and happy