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 |  my entries for the Construct Cup |
It's that time again. Time when I lose all sense of proportion and sanity and agree to write a poem a day following prompts exactly as given by our fearless leaders (aka Ren the Klutz!  and fyn  . I may not survive. But I will do it anyway, mostly because I can't imagine anyone having this much agony fun without me. Come join us! We have cookies. And possibly, straitjackets.
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| you lot are all total pumpkins! Cousin Emily shouted, and we looked around for signs of orange shells and general seediness, but all we saw were familiar faces—Uncle Andrew expressing temper until his ears turned tomato red, and Great-aunt Janaleigh smiling sweeter than maple syrup while thinking of something truly dreadful to say, and little Nikki swiping her finger clean, and so we nodded, agreeing, agreeable— which is why Emily started throwing things, we decided later as we toweled the leftovers away. line count: 18 Prompt 2 ▼ |
| at half past dawn, in the company of three thousand five hundred seventy-two strangers, I formed a line. it clumped and milled and stomped its feet like a herd of cattle, spooked. ready to stampede at the first sign of movement from the gate guarding glass doors. our breath curled patterns in the air our noses dripped. do you know how long it takes earwax to freeze? we do. line time lasts eternities. I personally witnessed three marriage proposals, a divorce, and the birth of a litter of Chihuahuas from the purse of a surprised woman, before dawn broke, and in its light we saw the metal rise. and we ran inside—a mad dash three thousand five hundred seventy-three strangers strong— our line breaking into individual spenders. and I felt its absence like an empty hand or a hunger . . . or a rush of melting earwax, so wrong. so terribly wrong. line count: 38 Prompt ▼ |
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