Living before dying
The first thing that hit me was the smell. Not unpleasant exactly but I wouldn’t want to spend all day with it. Not like they had to. It was mix of cleaning product and that medical staleness that, somehow, is nothing to with hygiene. A smell of the living, or the smell of the dying?…
“Do you want an inheritance or do you want a cruise?” Can money buy happiness?
The crowd was so silent that we could hear a gull calling overhead. Tension scrawled across every face. Our final player stepped up and, without hesitation, struck. The disc slid across the deck and landed on a seven. We threw our hands up in the air. The victorious shuffleboard player walked over to the kids. …
For tomorrow we shall die! (But alas we never do)
I’m old enough to remember when the Poems on the Underground first started. They were little pockets of surprise interspersed between adverts for cold remedies and time shares (yeah they were a big thing back in the day). They were short poems, or snippets of poems,designed to make you smile, or think, or just distract…