Snubbed

Rekindling the fire in her heart, she searched for the mystical bridge taken in by the fog, hoping to catch the miracle wagon going by. Humid and drizzling, the journey was still raw. Images of a dejected melancholic carriage left stranded in a dark alley, featured on the quarterly review. Conversation abound, negotiations on hand, doctor’s office was put on notice. The clock was ticking at the tip of the hour, unhurridly, one pointer at the time and as the fog began to fade miserably, the flock silenced the clumsy nightfall rescued by a peppermint light bulb moment.

©️Angela Aguiar

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Crossings

The rope was swerving indiscriminately with guided missile precision, faulting the poor handkerchief tree leaf trying to cuddle it. Hanguing helplessly to flee from the predator, the resilient, conscious, optimistic and self-determined procrastinator was buoyantly in control but not ready to shout his glory through the empty canister just yet. Whilst the birdcage stood tall, singing the hallelujah song, he searched for the road less traveled to an incubator across the street, running into a draw bridge instead.

©️Angela Aguiar

A Joint and a Trip

I have been telling God that I wanted to be in a hotel room all by myself on the beach, close my eyes to the wind, lay flat on the bed like a piece of gum, without a care in the world, just laying there, like Mr potatohead, watching the rainbow go by, shooting at flies pissed at the rain.

I have, for ages, I promise but it seemed to die on thin air on the transatlantic railroad.

I asked and I asked the bellman, the concierge, the fruitloop dressed like a bodyguard at the corner store to give me a sign. I begged my soul keeper to decree a heaven’s gate, a place to drip the scrambled eggs on any given omelette as I fought the alligators on the prowl. I did but no answer.

Instead, I woke from the dream, feeling more like a contessa then a princess, in a hotel somewhere in the middle of the ocean, laying flat on a palm tree, legs dangling like a yoyo, on a full belly, my heart racing like a leopard, margarita on hand, vegetable cigarette on the other, drunken stupor from a lemon juice overdose. I don’t know who was driving this joint but it surely felt like a trip to me.

©️Angela Aguiar