A Surrealist Romantic Conception

 

                            Part 1

     Approaching midnight, there are

the seeking tentacles of the vine root

peering at the moon. A man steps

over the root’s groping fingers to fix

his gaze upon that moon, while grave-

yard statues turn their heads to view

him, as he does the moon.

     Soon, his lover arrives, carrying an

18-inch-long oak log in her arms wrapped

in a light violet, velvet cloth, close to

her breast. Solemnly, she tells him to

“beware the woman in green gloves

followed by the top-hatted trumpet-

player.” Startled, he notices the appear-

ance of green gloves on her cradling

hands, as she lovingly hands the

blanketed log over to him. She con-

tinues… “His ‘horny’ call will be the

affirmation of our new life within.”

      Facing him, -her back toward the

large oak tree, she tosses 3 white dice

over her right shoulder whispering 3

times… “Chance is the great tool of

the Wise Goddess.” Passionately he

grabs her (tossing the log), kisses her

and proclaims to the bright moon, “I

will father this seed, and vow to stop

reading newspapers !”

 

 

 

 

 

                            Part 2

       From the night-sky it begins to rain

small –pocket –watches. He grabs up

the log in swaddling clothes as they run

for the shelter of a nearby Ga-ze-bo!  He

kisses the oak log, then cracks an egg

on the top-end of it.

       (Blink!) It is 1:00 a.m. He then duti-

fully brushes his mate’s hair with 101

strokes until 9:00 a.m. Up the park walk-

way can be dimly seen & heard, the top-

hatted trumpeter ushering in the begin-

ning of an all-day Jazz Festival. They

cross the busy city park to make love

on stage behind the curtain of a large

local church for no less, & no more than

3 hours and 33 minutes.

       Outside, the festival workers stop to

eat vanilla ice cream cones before clean-

ing up the small –pocket –watches. The

supervisor announces… “For us, it is

time.” The church graveyard statues

watch in observant silence.

 

The End.  By Bartley Keith