NaPoWriMo: Day Eleven. A Bedside Elegy.


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I am gloriously exhausted after illness and late-night parenting duties, so today’s (slid in with only minutes to spare), is a play around. And is not really a poem. It’s poemish…

Like many avaricious readers, I have a pile of books on the bedside floor. Yes, I said floor. There’s no more room on the table. Mabel.

So tonight, I made of list of every title on my bedside floor, unexpurgated, and have put them into a flash-prose-poem-poop kind of thing. Just to make it even easier, I have capitalized the titles.

There does seem to be a bit of theme running through my current reading matter….it’s a worry….

 

BEDSIDE ELEGY

“We are all just VISITORS in the CITY OF EVIL”, THE MONSTER OF FLORENCE said to me.

Of course, I didn’t know he was the monster at the time.  I had been sent here sometime after my success with THE MURDER AT YALE. After the publicity trailed off, I felt as if I were in a hole in my career. I was keen to climb out of THE LACUNA, and once again, find A RIGHTFUL PLACE in THE BOOK OF MURDER.

When I received THE CALL to assist the monster-squad, I ignored my DEMONS, dismissing them as mere VOICES FROM THE FIRE.  I knew Italian law enforcement didn’t work THE WAY WE WORK, but who really cares how THE KILLER CATCHER operates, as long as she catches?

I was a SUCCULANT WILD WOMAN, and not for nothing had I been twice written up in THE LAW AND THE LADY, a quaint, but well respected journal, still published by Yale women alumni.

As soon as i arrived in Florence, I sensed that this would ALL CHANGE, quite quickly.

THE AWAKENING came when i was strolling down the Via Romana, admiring statues that reminded me of THE STONES OF LONDON. I came to a music store, amusingly named HANG THE DJ, and was drawn inside by the decor. It looked like a room from THE ISLAND OF THE COLOUR BLIND.

I was thrilled to find they stocked old 78s of Caruso and other operatic greats, but the owner explained that he would have to retrieve them from THE VAULT.  It was when we were down there, hunting through glorious collections of early recordings, that he turned to me, eyes piercing through me like lasers, and asked me “Senora, are you FINDING YOUR ELEMENT?” Something told me, he wasn’t talking about Adelina Patti.  I sensed…no…knew…that he knew exactly who I was, and why I was there.

The steel teeth of THE HAPPINESS TRAP, clamped around my soul. MINDFULNESS AND THE ART OF URBAN LIVING         would not help me here. My breathing became shallow.

“Murder”, he whispered in my ear. Or did he shout? They sounded the same. “Murder, is just a series of THEATRE GAMES.  You must accept the offer, and then extend it. You must say yes.

“And you must never, never block….

“I’ve got some Peter Dawson here, if you’re interested…”

 

 

 

 

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