Random Acts of (Prose) Poetry

Something I wrote a few years ago:

August

The AC breaks down and the house is full of soup, stirred by fans. Sidewalks are hot plates; the car, a teapot. Everybody's all wet. The sun is unforgivable. Hydrants open, and streets become rivers of laughing children. Thunderheads boil up in the distance like Himalayas. Stores and offices feel like Frigidaires, and I wish I could linger. All day I wonder why woolen coats crowd in the closet. Were they ever needed? I sit and drink an ocean of colorful sweetness and don't want to move.

~~~

Meanwhile....

A Six-Word Story Contest. Write a six-word story, and if it's good enough, win $160 -- or a night at the Algonquin Hotel. It will be hard to top Hemingway's original: "for sale: baby shoes, never used."

!dea: words as images. Inflatio,ooo,ooon