Now, this story has little to do
with cutting beef.
But, I,
in point of fact,
was doing so.
Standing upon a wheel,
a wooden wheel,
with a mountainous amount of raw beef
laid out before me, and a sword in one hand.
And, because I was starving,
in the other, slivers
of raw beef
I greedily stuffed
into my mouth.
"I can't... seem to get enough,"
say I, chewing
a huge cud of cow flesh.
And maybe the old woman is there,
(on bended knees.)
But I can only see her back, and she is scrubbing the floor in this dirty, dirty kitchen, or whatever.
(The beef is growing huge, looping intestines made of liverwurst. Braunschweiger.)
As eating raw beef
is not an omen that portends
well, we'll leave it right there.
(Outside, somewhere, in that fantastic way in dreams wherein an individal can "bi-locate", I am standing with a friend whom I'll call "Mac," a tall rawboned man dressed like something that crawled from a cockpit during WW2.)
The sun beams down on his face,
and his adulation seems reserved
chiefly for me.
Zipping above,
like a too-loud bumblebee
held aloft
by ribbon
and canvas
and glue,
the Old Man
is set to come zipping
down
into the field,
as tall grass waves like delicate
fingers in the gentle,
almost still wind.
"It's like a dune buggy with wings," says Mac. He hefts a pair of binoculars to his rawboned face.
(And the late afternoon sun dips down to orange. And all slips into infinite space and time.)
About the Creator
Tom Baker
Author of Haunted Indianapolis, Indiana Ghost Folklore, Midwest Maniacs, Midwest UFOs and Beyond, Scary Urban Legends, 50 Famous Fables and Folk Tales, and Notorious Crimes of the Upper Midwest.: http://tombakerbooks.weebly.com
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