Good times, bad times
pastimes, last times
the next time, a new time
beyond time, besides time
just in time, the nick of time
a niche in time, high times
time beyond measure
time after time.
Unifloof
Unifloof (floofinition) – Animals who hang around colleges and universitites.
In use: “Unifloofs were abundant, with unideer bringing their unifawns to mingle with the students, to unisquirrels racing across the campus and up trees, and, most popular with the students, unicats soaking in sunshine and knowledge while spying on the students to see what they were learning.”
A Little Thing
A bowl of water was in the tree’s shade, probably there for animals. A yellow jacket thrashed about in it.
Bending down, he put a finger into the water beside the yellow jacket.
Grabbing his finger, it ran up out of the water as he pulled his finger free of the water. The yellow jacket sprang into the air, buzzed by his head for a second, and then flew away.
The encounter was a little thing taking less than five seconds of his life, but it felt so good.
And Again, and Again, and Again
He talks to his wife across the house,
demanding answers that she doesn’t give.
She doesn’t hear him, and he gets mad,
again, and again, and again.
He trips on the cat in the dark,
and curses the cat for not learning.
He goes the same way, every time,
again, and again, and again.
He leaves the lights on and the water running,
and complains about the waste,
and argues about whodunit,
again, and again, and again.
He sleeps the same times,
and does the same things,
eats the same food,
and complains the same ways.
Goes to the same places,
listens to the same tunes,
watches the same tube,
and hears the same news.
Then he complains that nothing changes?
Again, and again, and again.
Ode to Floof
On the steps
Underfoot
On the bed
Sometimes aloof
On everyone’s laps
Stealing food
There’s no other floof
Quite like you
Something Fundamental
His head was down against the silvery sunshine heat. Walking along, he looked up to orient his course and spotted Doctor Frank further up the white cement sidewalk.
He literally froze where he was. His heart beat – he felt it – but a shocked stupor held him stiff. Doctor Frank had died two months before. This had to be a doppelganger. He’d heard or read that everyone has an exact replica of themselves elsewhere on the world. This was the most perfect one he’d ever seen. The man was just like Doctor Frank, the biologist, in every aspect from his impish, good-natured expression, gray and white beard, and slender-as-a-broom frame to the outdoor pants, boots, and vest that were Doctor Frank’s regular attire, including the forest green bush hat.
He snapped out of it. The result put him up the sidewalk past where he’d spotted Doctor Frank, as if he’d never stopped. His head swooned. Pausing to regain control of his senses, he saw Q across the street, waiting to cross.
Now that was fucking impossible. Q’d died four years ago. Like Doctor Frank, doppelganger Q was an eerie ghost of his deceased friend. As he wondered what the what, he saw his mother-in-law, Jean, dead for the last two years, off to the left, with her husband, Carl, who’d been dead since 1992.
“Holy shit,” reverberated through his mind and came out his mouth. “What’s going on?”
In a blink, he realized all the color had deserted the world, as though he was watching a movie on an old black-and-white television. Closing his eyes to recover, he gasped; with his eyes closed, he could see everything taking place in color, except the dead folk that he saw weren’t there.
Slowly, he cracked his eyes open and took in the monochrome world. The sound differed from before. Swiveling his head, he saw more dead friends and relatives. It wasn’t his beloved hometown any longer, until he closed his eyes. With eyes closed, color was restored, and he was in the town where he’d been living and walking.
Keeping them closed, he resumed his walk. That seemed to work, but it was a temporary solution. Something fundamental had changed in his world.
He was going to have to open his eyes again sometime. And then…
He shook his head. He was going to keep his eyes closed until he was home. And then —
Well, he’d see.
I’m Gonna
What I’m gonna do and who I’m gonna be
keeps slipping away from me like sand between my
toes
Love is a stunted realty, sex is a wistful fantasy
Train wrecks in prolonged slow-
mo
Days whiz by like pee in the night
Time sits by at one side, mocking and laughing at me and my plight
I have no idea how anything
goes
Birds still sing, the sun rises and sets
I could tell you more
but you know the
story changes, rearranges every day and
night
I think I know what I’m gonna do
like everyday before,
got my coffee, I’m in my seat,
I think I’m gonna
write
Helmet Law
The young woman on the scooter was wearing a lavender helmet. It went well with her shiny purplish bikini and sandals.
Watching her pass, he gauged she was probably traveling thirty miles an hour on the twenty-five limit road. Most people drove thirty to thirty-five, with some hurrying on to forty. Two people had been killed on the road in the last ten years, so he worried about the unknown girl. A friend had been wearing a helmet when she crashed. Wasn’t on this road, granted, but she’d been going thirty miles an hour when she lost control. (Privately, he thought she was going faster because he’d seen her riding before, but she claimed she was doing thirty.) Despite wearing a denim shirt and cotton shorts, she’d suffered huge injuries on her back and legs when she slid along the asphalt road. Weeks of hospitalization followed, along with a year of treatment.
That’d been what a person wearing a shirt and shorts had suffered. As for a person without much of a top…
He shrugged. At least she was wearing a helmet.
Michael Seidel, writer 