Underwater Songs E-Book

William Gough

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Underwater Songs

No need to breathe air; releasing his poems from the afterlife; having shared his green bicycle & married, placing a plum blossom in his lapel; now past being old, he lives underground - and his widow carries her tales like a comet.



Yet another yarn about a little boy in a big room. This is the fourth in a series of linked Urban Fables."

A Gull Pond ‘'Toonie Yarns'

Leseprobe

William Gough

Underwater Songs

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Urban Fable - 4

Underwater Songs

(Urban Fable # 4)

by

William Gough

Published by Gull Pond Books at Bookrix

ISBN: 978-1-927046-51-7

©2017-William GoughCoverPhoto - ©2017,©2004 Caren Moon - Fulford Daze

A Gull Pond Book

At 'Toonie Yarns'

Underwater Songs

(Urban Fable - 4)

Before I married the small boy in a big room, I lived in my own room. I was known as the big girl in the small room, so it was inevitable that we'd get together.

Long ago, when there was air & earth & sun & touch I sometimes bathed in water, drank it, filled water balloons with it & leaning out my window, dropped the slo-stretching globules watching them stretch thru time & compress space. That was when the little boy from the next floor rode his green bicycle.

He’d look at me and laugh – water over his epaulettes & even tho’ he wasn’t allowed to play with other people, I knew he was my best friend.

Once I hit him right on his little helmet & the spike burst the balloon, spraying it over his shoulders. He rode round and around, with scraps of balloon fluttering from his helmet. He screamed aloud that he would marry me & years later outside Barstow, on our way to Lone Pine, we did marry. But that’s another story for another day; another life.

What I must tell, what I will spill over these pages is so filled... so spilling, so warm that we could take a million nights and fill a trillion fishbowls, so we might swim together.

My feet are submerged. Every since they boarded my door shut & the taps came on, my feet have been wet.

I ruin more shoes this way.

Once upon a time, my Aunt Irene, who (once upon another time) was placed in a larger fish bowl (in a much bigger room) made the mistake of wearing red shoes & her shoes were, let's face it, not of their original colour which was white, a white that scuffed and shifted through the roads that Aunt Irene walked & bulged because of the pressure of her corns and bunions. The white shoes were so scuffed & corn-poked that one day she decided to color her life with red shoes.

Little did she know she’d be wearing red shoes for the first time with the skim of new dye of new vermillion holding & bending colour around her battered feet on the same day, that she’d be placed in a fish bowl. No one told her she'd be in a fish bowl. No official sent a message. The Queen didn’t send a telegram. The Pope had no fishbowl- day-sing-along-gram.