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Folding Laundry

Essays and short prose for our short attention span

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Then on the exit, down the stairs, the boot heel sings on the tile, asserting the weight of his life. Vitality and stupidity become one as his torso sways down to the ground floor. He exits the doctor’s like that was his last consultation. Healthy as a horse, see ya never, doc! The sound of his steps is interrupted by the seriousness of a woman’s high heel. Clicking becomes clatter when a group of young women attending a wedding ascend to St Mark. The cobblestone is so old it’s permanently humid from rain 3 months ago. For fear of sprains, their tempo is slow but it sings. They all look like a million dollars, except that one of them exposes the glamour as forced, she’s sentenced to the back of the flock and, here and there, she turns her gaze to men and children across the street, begging them to acknowledge the joke that is, high heels.

“Greek hair salons”, read at @gobjawpoetry #9 on 5 October, is linked in bio | Photo by the Onassis Foundation 2017 exhibition “GR80s”, taken from lifo.gr

Sunscreen, creamed hard liquor, detergent, jell-like savior

England vs Scotland on TV

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