Poetic Journal Year 166 B.E.

166.86 "vacuum cleaner" <GZ>

"vacuum cleaner"

"His life was preordained to become a heap of scraps: tiny notes he could never find; shredded pages he hoped others had never read. It was the rotting tomes stuck in the depths of his inner closet that worried him most."

Kåre slept through the night tossed by dreams and warm sticky air. He woke to cool breezes removing the slick from his skin. Reluctant to move he sought to snuggle and fall back to sleep. An aroma of coffee wafted over him. Damn the neighbors! for opening their windows and getting up so early, he thought. In protest, he got up and started to vacuum. It gave him something to lean on, something to do. Swaying slowly he made his way to the kitchen. And damn decaf too! He laid the cleaner up against the wall and scooped some Kenyan, enough to make him a pot. Dark fragrant coffee dripping and white noise of the vacuum blocked out his thoughts. Yet he wished he could remember his dreams, grasp each thread of color, each hint of touch.

scraps
vacuum cleaner
dreams

© Kåre Enga [166.86] 2009-06-13

Earlier version in blog entry:

"My life was preordained to become a heap of scraps: tiny notes I could never find; shredded pages I hoped others had never read. It was the rotting tomes stuck in the depths of my inner closet that worried me most."

Whose blog did I write a comment in that I revised as above? It would make a good opening paragraph to a short story.

"vacuum cleaner"

Kåre slept through the night tossed by dreams and warm sticky air. He woke to cool breezes removing the slick from his skin. Reluctant to move he sought to snuggle and fall back to sleep. The aroma of coffee wafted over him. Damn the neighbors for opening their windows and getting up so early, he thought. He got up and started to vacuum in protest. It gave him something to lean on, something to do. Swaying slowly he made his way to the kitchen. And damn decaf too! He laid the cleaner up against the wall and scooped out some Kenyan, enough to make him a pot. Dark fragrance of coffee dripping and white noise of the vacuum blocked out his thoughts. Yet he wished he could remember his dreams, grasp each thread of color, each hint of touch.

scraps
vacuum cleaner
dreams

© Kåre Enga [166.86] 2009-06-13