The peacefulness of the pool was broken as the “fly-in fly-out” squad bomb dived into it. The ruffled locals moved out of their path and let them get on with all the showing off, the noisy social commentary, and the ubiquitous attempt of some new FIFO to hook up with someone elses partner. They would have to wait to get their peaceful life back again: after all, migrating birds don’t stick around very long.
This one has been banging around my head for over a month since I saw a flock of migrating birds swoop down into the dam in the paddock next door, and in that time I lost my flow – I really should have written it when it barged into my brain.
The dogs lazed on the floor, tongues lolling, ears twitching. The master sashayed around the room, doing a bad impression of Austins Powers, “Groovy baby, lets make some Art” he said, as he flung the dog food in their bowl and started taking pictures of the splattered empty can!
If you want to find out what SOD really means – read this post.
During the night, as she tried to free herself from the bath, she thought about how the tingles she felt at their first kiss should have been a warning. At the time she had been entranced by the sparkles in his eyes and his delicate touch, which had fooled her into thinking that she wasn’t just another bird to him. Now, with the bathwater freezing around her weighted legs showing her the true coldness of his heart, she bitterly regretted inviting Jack to visit again.
Good people of the world, enjoy,
that flashy foil and crinkly noise,
a chocoholics favourite season,
to indulge for no other reason,
than that Easter Bunny left some eggs,
(it doesn’t matter it makes no sense),
so scoff that choccy goodness down,
I’ll have the white, you have the brown.