Saturday afternoon
Live show to go to
Neil Finn on the iPod
All else quiet
up and down stairs
Three flash fiction pieces
written in a flash - or three
Society of Authors,
wonder if they'll pass labia?
Cold air like soup the music has to stir
Fingers like claws the keys have to clip
Coco Cola on the airwaves
Feet down below his knees
In the glass on the lace cloth
In the fridge, waiting for the boys.
Wind outside like that's where it's at
Full-moon prediction, flooding on shore
Lock up your cat
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