What's for Lunch?
Maybe this is flash fiction, maybe it is poetry, but it definitely belongs to MACABRE MONDAY. It's one of my resurrected writings from back in my twenties.
She is fluid – she is water, going with the flow.
Born to dance the surface on light tippy toes, riding waves’ crests never dipping below.
A vacillating shimmer that fits the shape of any container,
An office, a cube-world space, a place so humdrum
She becomes angular, ordered, and predictable as life in an aquarium-
Below the waterline, deeper, darker is only imagined.
He is a predator concealed in a crevice,
Awaiting a pause in her dance, to seize his chance.
Thick, sluggish undulations from shivers of anticipation rise but
Light breaking on the surface knows nothing of what happens beneath where…
He is busy. Busy.
Silly creature (he licks his lips) – not too bad for a quick lunch.