Sitting on My Bed on a Summer Afternoon By nomadpenguin It is summer, very close to the day that our nation clambered out from under her father’s coat and pointed a gun at his face. Later, millions of men will light their grills, and dream of a time when there was no work, no money, no telephone to keep their wives locked indoors, a time when all a man needed to be happy was to kill an animal and watch it blacken over a fire. Even later, millions of fiery blossoms will festoon our skies, and as children marvel at the lights and the sounds, some of us will quietly slip inside because the memory of anti-aircraft fire is too terrible and frightening to bear. But for now, there is nothing for me to do but sit in my bed, pleading the grey skies to bestow us with a drop of rain to ease our suffering, watching young people make the long trek to the pool, towels slung over their shoulders, wondering where my pen, like a holy man wandering in the desert will lead me next. Perhaps it will decipher the secretive whisper of the ceiling fan, or tell of our intrepid forefathers, or perhaps, if I plead and whine and cajole enough, it will lead me to you, sitting in your bed, wondering where your pen will take you next. Waif By Darkkin In the heat of the day. Away from the light... Here in the high midsummer. Eyes, watchful, ever bright... A shimmer of water... A sprinkler...on. Laundry flapping upon the line. A flicker, a whisper...gone... Bloody sky and cobalt rags... The air, a hot bath, gone cold. Between the trees, the grass, unmowed... A shadow...a something...that story...told... The high midsummer's fading light... Provides a cloak, allowing dreams to form... A ripple, spreading on the reflection of night. Curling flame, glowing eyes, gleeful...the coming storm. Laundry fluttering, butterfly wings... A child, pauses amid billowing sheets. Banners of war, the storm wind sings... Betwixt the white, above the black, A pair of eyes...Peers right back. The Waif...A pixie lost...Guardian of pools, Of cool, damp glades... Best friend of the child, with no one to play. Found in the haze...at the end of the midsummer's day.