A Sequence Of Micro-Fictions

1. It's a mystery, even now. A plough, a field, Three black crows, wheeling. 2. Everything had changed. Everything was the same. He wiped her face From the cold plate of his memory. 3. When Dermott spoke on the phone People shook their heads His talk not worth the price Of an old potato. 4. On the darkest evening, When a saxophone blows subversively in Old Manhattan, A gun rocks in its cradle A gangster's lullaby Like an earwig curled in candyfloss 5. Far out at sea, the Mayor's wife Creamed the make-up from her cheeks The ocean turned in its bed As the Heavens opened the floodgates 6.Across the table There are unexpected intrusions, admissions `I forgive her, ' he said Folding his hands on his lap Like pristine napkins 7.Grief must have its turn Glued wings come unstuck Regrets clump like tea leaves Round the rim of the cup 8.Her villainous cat Plays cricket with a bird The letterbox rains enticements Mrs Buchanan shuffles to the window. 9.I whittle time like a clothes-peg Cloudy days flap on the line Rain falls inside me in No-man's land. 10.Behind the doors of the locked ward Patients suspect everyone Leapfrog from reason to mania Tangled narratives. Memories etched with acid 11.He kept his foot in the door Of trout and salmon His fingers played on their scales Weighing them for the black drapes of the air 12.She left without paying the bill For a strange bed, Like a shy beast nudging its way Through unknown pasture 13.Summer spreads its wares Like a salesman chasing a deadline Oil clings to the steering wheel Like a bumblebee on a scythe.