Overblown overnight metaphors
Originally published at Dailies. You can comment here or there.
Last night, our bed:
became a diner’s order window
Kate frantically posting green slips and me cooking on the line
for two customers, by turns irate and sending back their soup
No tips
became a steel cage sphere
Kate and I standing at the very bottom, our heads perfectly centered
as two motorcycle riders buzzed and revved in arcs around us
No helmets
the fulcrum point of an oscillating teeter-totter
became the stick on which to spin two plates
became the single musical chair
around which we all circled warily,
dawn’s music playing slower and slower,
but not stopping