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Today's poem or short story prompt is "television/TV".
TV
ReplyDeleteWhat I know of life
I learned from TV
There was no granddad
To learn at granddad's knee
I sat too close to a light-filled box
That bombarded my developing brain
With low-frequency waves of invisibility
The memories I have of family
Twilight Zone, Mr. Ed & Jeopardy
I have never robbed
But I have murdered thousands of times
I only had one husband
Yet I've cheated and killed him
With so little reason or rhyme
Engrossed in stories not my own
Triggered tiny seizures
Tumors
Defects
Learning Deficiencies
My brain contains millions of pixels
Images that may or may not be my life but
It's not like I'd know the difference now
It's not like I'd know the difference now
It's not like I'd know the difference now
Catherine Powers
August 1, 2013
Copyright 2013
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ReplyDeletePART 5 of 7
ReplyDeleteHe stood up and immediately realized he needed to use the toilet. He picked up the cereal bowl - insect free now - and carried it to the sink. He held himself and filled a pan with water to boil pasta for tonight's dinner. He could certainly hold it that long - and long enough to light the burner and set the pan on the stove.
Joe stared at the burner. The electric lighter had stopped working more than a year ago but he didn't see any reason to replace it. He remembered his mother talking about her mother lighting the burners with matches. He thought it was "charming" for some reason and actually preferred it this way. So, rather than ordering the part from the shop on State St, he bought matches.
He went into the bathroom and relieved himself. Everything flowed well. 'Getting old'? I don't think so.
Why does that bother you so much?
Because they use it to explain everything. Can't read that sign? We're getting old. Don't want to go bowling? We're getting old.
But you are.
Old is a state of mind.
Your mind is getting old too. It believes that 'old' is just a state of mind. That's the first sign.
Go away.
Joe waited just to make sure, but it had. He shook the last few drops and zipped himself. On his way back to the kitchen, he turned on the television. Tonight was a new episode of his favorite sitcom. He didn't actually like it - in fact he was quite sure he wasn't going to watch it - but everyone should have a favorite television show so he chose this one. He didn't know what it was about or who the actors were but he laughed with them at work and was one of the crowd for a while.
The water wasn't boiling yet. He took the tomato sauce and olive oil out of the refrigerator. He'd fried up all of the pancetta a few nights ago to save trouble. He mixed it all together and warmed it in a smaller pan while he waited for the water to boil.
His mind drifted back to the last night they'd been together. He could almost feel his hand on his thigh, shook away the memory. Who needed it? He was gone and that was that. Where was he now? It didn't really matter. If the roots weren't deep, nothing grew.
Tiny bubbles were forming at the bottom of the pan. This was always the hard part - deciding whether or not to throw in the pasta now and wait a little longer or wait until the water was at a rolling boil. Someday he would do a controlled experiment - maybe make two batches at the same time and compare them. That would be easier than trying to make notes between two different meals.
The sauce was giving off the familiar smell he loved. He stirred it, watching the wooden spoon part the thick sauce, watching the sauce close back in on itself as soon as the spoon moved on. Open, close, open, close. He picked up the spoon and tasted it.
Perfect.
He heard the television, a commercial for car insurance. The clock said twenty seven minutes after seven. "His show" would start in just a few minutes. Why had he let him take the car? It was his car.
The water was boiling. He opened the cupboard to get the pasta but saw that the box was empty. He remembered now, he'd finished it yesterday. Why had he put the empty box back in the cupboard? And what to do now?
He could go to the store, but his show was starting in just a few minutes. He could call for carry out but he didn't want to spend the money. He could eat the sauce without pasta but that felt like a violation. A crime. An abomination.
Joe turned off both burners. He wasn't really hungry anyway. His stomach had been wrong.
-Mike Fedel
August, 2013