Everyday Canvas

A Fish Tale

Promp: Let's try an exercise: Begin your blog with these characters and see where they take you...
a young man in jail, a waitress who likes her menu to rhyme, a policeman with ten cats and a driver of a hit and run accident. Oh the stories that can grow with your imagination and a blank screen.
If you don't feel that energetic tell me about your weekend plans.

------------------------

Since I never know what can jump at me without a plan for any weekend, here is a prompted tale instead:


A Fish Tale of Political Correctness

Janice swayed her hips, took out the order pad,
her blond curls shook; she smiled, eager and glad.

“Our specials are: hand-battered fish and chips
wood grilled tacos with cheese on tips
marinated shrimp skewers
with free root-beer-filled ewers.
We also offer sailor’s platter
and peppercorn sirloin for that matter,
but may I suggest first a vodka martini,
if not, maybe caramel appletini
or a sunset passion colada
or a nicely blended Bahama Mama?”

“Hold it, Miss, Waitress!” said Henry, driver of the hit and run
“That thing on the first line is fine where you just begun

or whatever else you bring, make it on the double
I gotta eat and run, as I am in big trouble.

I have a brother, a young man in jail
I mustn’t join him before I raise bail.”

“Yessir,” said Janice, “I am your server; the name’s Janice.
As this establishment employs political correctness,

throwing gender at me brings much stress.
Just remember not to call me a waitress.”

Before Henry could bite into his fish and chips
he glimpsed ten cats, felt their paws' grips.

They attacked his plate, surrounding him
with hundred meows. Then, “Your chances are slim!”

bellowed Chapman, the policeman. “My cats belong to the force
like K-9s, our new adventure, as a matter of course,

but first, I’ll read you your rights, and you cannot run
surrounded by armed cats. My, they are having fun!”

“But sir,” shrieked Janice. “What about political correctness?
No animals here, the rules say with due directness.”

“Ten cats of the police force, surrounding a criminal
and you try to get under my skin in a way subliminal?”

Chapman waved his bushy brows as the cats devoured the fish,
and poor Henry cowered while handcuffed with a swish.

“The most politically correct is the police doing his job,”
said Chapman to Janice, “Come, nice Miss, don’t be a snob.

I’ll take you out, after I book him in.” Beaming,
Chapman stood erect, and Janice nodded, dreaming.

Smiling sweetly, she said, “Yes! Of course, yes.
But first, please, let me clean up the mess.

Then tonight, after I primp, I’ll see you at seven-ish?”
Chapman said, “Agreed! I swear, it will be heaven-ish.”

Here ends my fish tale of romance and rhyme
written in half an hour, seasoned with slime.