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Open Poetry #38
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“The Blue Into”
| Open Poetry #38 |
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“The Blue Into” |
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Edward Grim Senior Member
since 2005-12-18
Posts 1154Greenville, South Carolina 
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The Blue Into He stood out of the crowd like an American-made blue easy chair in an antique store in Chinatown. But he didn’t feel that velvet. He ran a deli, the one across from Tony’s Delicatessen. He had a quarter pound of salami and a rusted, old meat slicer that would frequently scream “Tetanus!” That was all his eatery consisted of. Everyday, he would shave paper plate slices of blue cheese and Genoa salami. But no one would order either of the two, Because no one ever stepped past his warped and mangled door jam. His “not so booming” business wasn't so bad though, but wasn’t ever booming. His only customer, the Insecticide Salesman, would order two slices of bread and leave a forty percent tip. His phobia and hatred for flies drove him “Shining” in the head and left him seeping into awkwardness like the blue into a can of red paint. Just only remembering his long apartment corridor laced with a “loaves and fishes multitude” of bluely lit bug zappers that radiated violet waves of Oceana onto his eggshell walls. His fear of flies came from his optics when he was younger. His eyes were perpetually raped by the oscillating lines of black motion disturbing his vision. He would smite and scratch his disturbed little seeing face-balls until they were left looking like tumid boysenberries puffed out of his socket. So thirty years down the road when the flies invaded his butcher’s block, panic and fear struck him. The kind of fear that a man wearing a blue suede suit running in a storm would feel. Pestilence, the pestilence of the black lines returned. The flies were back. Luckily for him, the “Six leg killer”, or as he called him “Order up, two breads” was ready to kill. He brought his industrial-strength bike pump full of bug killin’ cocktail to unleash wrath and fury amongst the flies. After his deed was finished, The flies were no longer flies, they expired into the mortal coil. The flies became flews. The poor fly-fearing butcher. He took showers to scald and clean away the memories of hatred from his mind. Out of the shower, he wiped his face with a brand new one hundred percent cotton blue, fuzzy towel that left his faced Smurfed. Blue cotton fuzzies groping his facial features. This was the highlight of his life, this fear and loathing. He reveled in the chaos of his phobias and persistent depression. His constant feeling of sadness and the future of his mood becoming blue into something bluer. I'm not smart, I'm just a tricky dumb person. |
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| © Copyright 2006 Edward Grant - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Dark Stranger Member Patricius
since 2001-03-19
Posts 13631West Coast |
Ed, it is easy to saturday evening post into this photo show...enjoyed the tour of blue |
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aziza Member Elite
since 2006-07-09
Posts 2995Lumpy Oatmeal makes me Crazy! |
I loved the 'flews' and the blues and this poem ~ I do. aziza |
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LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296 |
this is certainly a pallet full of colorful words, the imagry is really great, the story kept my attention, reading each line faster and faster. Enjoyed! |
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