SATURDAY CENTUS
We are asked to record the above illustration using our five senses.
THE RETURN
I hear the creak of the timbers,
Weathered by each passing day.
I smell the scents of the farmyard
Mixed with that of the new-mown hay.
I touch the old door with my fingers
And it opens as of old.
I taste the memory of apple pies
Hot from the stove, or cold.
I see the house I was born in,
With eyes that are growing dim,
And I only wish I could hear that voice
Calling 'Come for your supper, Jim!'
*
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SILENT TREATMENT
Three days! And we hadn't spoken!
Just how long would it take?
It was all his fault! That was certain.
But which of us would break?
How I hated his negative attitude!
He was mean and he was callow!
He'd said I was all surface show!
He'd accused me of being shallow!
We'd shouted insults loud and long!
We obviously loathed each other!
I told him he was a selfish boor;
He said 'You're like your mother!'
But we ran out of insults, by-and-by,
And the Silent Treatment began.
Three days! And we hadn't spoken!
God! What an irritating man!
He was duty-bound to speak first!
After all, he was to blame!
But, if he didn't speak, I wouldn't!
Two can play at that little game!
Then I caught his eye and looked away;
Was that the ghost of a grin?
I looked back just to make certain.
I mustn't let him win!
But I couldn't stop my lips twitching
And, before, I knew it,
I'd burst out laughing and, heaven knows,
I hadn't planned to do it!
We ended up in each other's arms!
Silent Treatment was for the birds!
But, oddly enough, we discovered
We still didn't need any words!
*
