SATURDAY CENTUS
supplied the first line for a very, very short story.
EXIT ONE EIGHT ONE
'Exit 181, 1/2 mile ahead...'
I was having a nap! I thought I was in bed!
I'm the Navigator! What's He going to say
When he suddenly realises
We're going the wrong way?
*
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BEEN THERE! DONE THAT!
Imagination is a boon!
I'll never, never hang-glide!
Even when young, I was a coward.
Now that I am old
I take refuge in fragility.
I let people think
I was once courageous,
Forthright,
Daredevillish,
And a collector of
Trophies!
Verbally,
I bounce and crackle,
Sounding full of confidence.
But it is all a charade.
Physically,
I am a mewling, puking kitten.
And yet and yet,
How wonderful it must be
To hang-glide!
The prize for overcoming ones fears
Must be great.
And yet, and yet,
All is not lost,
For I am blessed with imagination.
I know exactly how the world must look,
The wind must blow,
The stays must creak,
The body must sway.
And I am not risking
Life and limb.
I can imagine myself a bird.
Fortunate me!
*
