Tag Archives: lovers

1548. Peanut butter jar

(The closing sentence for this story was suggested by Yvonne of Hello World. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future closing sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)

Marica Peeperkoorn’s lover was an industrial chemist. He had most things her husband didn’t. Marica and her lover shared a common problem: how to get rid of Marica’s husband. The love-struck chemist came up with a syringe of poisonous concoctions.

“Somehow get your husband to swallow this stuff. He will die slowly and in agony, but he will die. And the perfect thing is, the stuff can never be detected.”

Marica knew exactly what she would do with it. She would mix it with the peanut butter. Her husband was the only one in the house who ate peanut butter. He loved it. Marica detested it.

Have you ever tried mixing peanut butter with poisonous fluid? The poison runs to the top and sticks out a mile. Marica had to go to a lot of trouble to mix the two properly. Even when she stirred both together the consistency wasn’t right. It was too runny. She ended up heating the mixture so that things evaporated a little. Next she put it in the blender. Then she returned everything to the peanut butter jar and placed it in the cupboard. What a lot of work! All she need do now was wait.

Just before her husband was due home from work, Marica got a phone call. Tragically her lover had had a heart attack. He had not survived. Marica didn’t know what to do. All her future security had disappeared in one medical event. She took the peanut butter jar and emptied its contents into the waste bin. Then she washed the jar and placed it back in the cupboard. Her husband was now safe and earning a salary and Marica’s short-term security at least was secured.

When Marica’s husband came home he had one thing to say: “I’ve been trying to say this for a long time so I’ll just tell it like it is. I want a divorce.”

Marica could’ve killed him. The problem was, the peanut butter jar was empty.

Poem 86. A dire warning to lovers

Falling in love is sort of like
being diagnosed with sugar diabetes.
It’s kind of like a sugar overload
and the body can’t cope with all the syrup fast enough
so it results in a sticky mess
and you end up
chucking the baby out with the bathwater.

Falling in love is sort of like
weeding the garden;
there’s a great vision of magnificent blooms
further down the track
but there’s the inevitability of pulling flowers out
with the weeds
and chucking the baby out with the bathwater.

Falling in love is sort of like
you know
it gets more complicated than you think
and it completely stuffs up your life
because you should be finishing an assignment and
instead you end up spending all night trying to make
something to chuck out with the bathwater.

Anyway, despite my warning,
by the time you realize you’re in love
it’s too late. You’re completely caught in the net.
Every song on the radio is about you. The only way out
is not to get up in the morning
or to move towns and that’s tantamount to
chucking the baby out with the bathwater.

Be warned! Love’s sort of like a horse and carriage:
every wedding’s followed by a marriage.
It’s not that you can’t do it;
it’s just that so many for a thousand different reasons blew it.

Poem 28: Mary Ann – Harry

– an eclogue

Having settled on creating an Eclogue, as my chosen poetic form for this month, I perused Virgil’s famous “Eclogues” (translated of course) to get some inspiration. I had great difficulty in comprehending them, even after reading the footnotes numerous times. This Eclogue is a response to, and an admission of, my own inadequacy.

Mary Ann (a town girl):
Harry, you must go and milk all the cows that are lowing o’er there.

Harry (a shepherd):
No, my dear Mary Ann, I really cannot be bothered today.
It is idyllic so, lying here with you this late afternoon,
cool in the shade of a sycamore tree in the field.

Mary Ann:
Oh, but the cows have udders near bursting with cream.
Calves have been taken away from them so that they need to be milked;
I mean the cows not the calves. I hear them bleat.

Harry:
Moo.

Mary Ann:
Moo?

Harry:
It’s like the cow and the bull, and the ram and the ewe, and the white
duck and the drake, and the hind and the stag, and the pigs;
let us make love in this bucolic place with the sky all above.

Mary Ann:
Oh, but I have soon to catch the last train back to town where I live,
leaving behind all this wonderful pastoral countryside bliss
in exchange for exhaust fumes and tooting of horns at the traffic lights.
This is no time for such hanky-panky and for you to toot
toot your horn as well. Toot toot.

Harry:
Toot toot.

Mary Ann:
Too-da-loo. I go!

Harry:
See how the smoke from the cottage afar curls in the sky.
Evening begins to set; husbands and wives light their fires for warmth,
Cosy in domestic love. See how the shadows stretch long in the meadows.

Mary Ann:
Quick! I must leave for the train that will take me away from the farm.

Harry:
Oh well, I’d better go milk all the cows that need milking then.
Farewell, my lovely dear Mary Ann. May you enjoy the long trip
back to the town where you dwell.
But will you marry me?

Mary Ann:
NO! But my heart will be left behind in this most rustic of settings,
here with the lowing of herds winding slowly in line o’er the lea.

Harry:
You already said that.

Mary Ann:
And there are olive groves and vineyards.

Harry:
Where?

Mary Ann:
There are also peaches

Harry:
and cream.

They kiss. Mary Ann misses her train.

909. Kissing in the front seat

909front

Come on, baby. Get over into the back seat.

Nah, I don’t want to.

(Smooch. Smooch). Come on, baby. Get over into the back seat.

Nah. I don’t want to.

(Smooch. Smooch). Come on, baby. Get over into the back seat.

Nah. I don’t want to.

Why not?

‘Cos I want to be with you.