Friday, October 17, 2008
“Field of blood,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. “Too ghoulish, even for the season.”
“Field of Kool-Aid?”
“Mm. Cherry Kool-Aid.”
“What were you thinking of?” he said.
“Nothing, really. I’m not very quick on my feet.”
“Come on. Try.”
She shrugged his arm off her shoulder. “Nope.”
A confetti of grasshoppers exploded from the wet earth as he sat down.
“Pen me a poem, Liz.”
“Oh, God. Are you drunk?”
He leaned back on his elbows.
“Intoxicate me with your words.”
She corked her laughter with her knuckles, while he waggled a blade of grass between his teeth.
“Or maybe something the kids might like?” he said.
“Well, crap. There goes my initial inspiration.”
He spat out the grass, and smiled.
“Something just for me, then.”
“Can I do a haiku, since they’re short and all?”
“Absolutely. Haiku porn is a dying art form. Outside Japan, that is.”
She started to pace, counting syllables on her fingers as she eyed a gaggle of geese arrow past the treetops. His foot bounced on his knee while he watched her strain.
Finally, she stopped, took a deep breath, and said,
"A field of fire
Inflaming my allergies
Can we go home now?"
He squinted, though the sun sulked inside its grey vault. Sitting up, he gingerly cleared his throat.
“Very nice, but is it kosher to end a haiku on a question?”
“I don’t really care. All I know—”
She shrieked as her legs were ripped from the ground.
“What are you doing?!”
“You were right. You’re not very quick on your feet.”
Her laughter died in his lips. He was distracted from the dampness on his back by the slightest suggestion in her hips.
“What was wrong with that poem?” she said.
Her breath warmed his ear, and flooded his body. Like the sweetest fever.
“I just wanted to go home.”