Micro Tales (2) x 3

Beige

Lights flash by the window

I know them, and they barely register.

A familiar hacking cough disturbs.

Tinny announcements are ignored

By my numb mind.

My beige life,

Clatters in time with the carriage –

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack,

Day after day.

I need colour…

At the next station, she steps into my life.

.

.

Watermelon 

There is something satisfying,

When the seed you spit, lands perfectly

On the shoulder of your detractor –

Unbeknownst to them.

Is not the day a little brighter?

The juice a little sweeter?

The colour more than watermelon?

The future seems promising,

The past… Further past…

The joy of simple revenges.

.

.

Red

As long as she can remember

Her view from the hillside cottage

Had been Argassi’s terracotta rooftops –

Down to the turquoise Mediterranean.

This has been her anchor.

She was born here,

She grew here,

She learned here,

She loved here,

She taught here,

And she gave here.

Now she is returned to the soil…

to become part of here.