Being Responsible

We didn’t pollute the air, we didn’t spoil the oceans, we didn’t start wars, we didn’t cause anything, damn it Donald, what do you take responsibility for, Donald runs his hand threw his mop, still there he sighs, will look good

at the invitation dinner tonight. First impressions make a difference. From the top of the building there is not a chance of a flood, from the size of the army there is no threat, from the size of the 20 trillion overdraft, he chuckles at that one. No, we are not responsible for the polluted world, look, why worry, if we are cute we’ll blame the citizens of china, look at Russia he says, damn it, this is going to cost too much, can’t we talk about something else. The all present God, the consciousness of many, the voices of those is trouble, from the sewer that was created, are all wondering, when will Donald become responsible. Mother Nature cries out, the Almighty Father hears it, hears all of her petitions. Solomon sighed, we all have to be part of the clean up.

Storms turned around, weather, the chance to put things write, right, write. Did the people realize the potential of words. Solomon encountered it, and wondered why, it had not been made clearer. As the prophets of old did, we could all petition the divine True God, all we had to do was make the effort. Compassion, understanding, these were not price tags, money after all was printed with a machine, clean water, well, that was a different matter, just being responsible.

Tight Squeeze

maybe, she twirls, the dress does not look right, the mirror is full length, she stands there, head left head right, head up head down, doesn’t feel right, damn, she marches to the bedroom, a bundle of clothes on the bed, she reaches into the press, what now she sighs, four to choose from, she’s a size eight, wants to be a seven, grabs the navy jump suit, quickly changes, returns to the mirror, half an hour later, she makes up her mind. A pout of the lips, cool she smiles, on her way to an awards ceremony, wants to look her best. Whats the hurry, in traffic, taxi driver watches her reaction in the mirror, hyped up chick or what, she is hopping, can’t this bus go faster, is getting nervous, the delay is killing her.  what’s the rush!.

famine chick, in her small tent, the aid convoy hasn’t arrived yet, was promised a week ago, will it hurry up, her child is cramping with the hunger, the water milk diet not sustaining enough. She doesn’t mind, it’s her child she worries about.

I’d like to announce the winner of the new female singer of the year, and the winner is, she bursts in the door, the audience turns around, the noise she makes would scatter a flock of birds. her day is made, she arrived on the stroke of recognition, the fuss with the make up and stuff worth the wait.

She pulls her hair, ringlets, cutie, she fawns for the audience, opens her mouth the way all the bright teeth people do, pauses. i would like to dedicate my award to the ..

The child is crying, she is fraught with anxiety, she holds the baby, one eye on the door, a miracle she pleads, how can i stop the suffering of my little child. She shakes the baby, talking to the wee one all the time, she’d feed him from her breast, but they are hard and tight, no milk in there, she needs to feed to provide for the young one.

i’d like to thank my agent, and my family for getting me this far, without them i would have got nowhere.  She bursts out crying, the emotions too much, success has come at last.

Without food there was nothing she could do. The dead bundle is cold, she sits on the floor, wailing.

Anyone for canapes!