The Bridge

 

I took myself for a walk past a corner I had not turned before.

Ahead of me was a bridge. It was not a bridge too far away

Nor a bridge over troubled waters. It was just a bridge. It went

from one side of the river to the other yet I could not cross.

It was a rope suspension bridge.

It shook when you stepped on it. It swayed from side to side.

I stood back while other people passed across. An older man

With a border collie could not cross either. The dog

Would not move. I thought of the old saying, You cross

Your bridges when you come to them. Not always.

 

The Other John Malone

 

The other John Malone looks a lot like me.

He does look a lot like you, my partner says,

Except for that mole on the left cheek.

You mean my ‘beauty spot?’ I laugh.

He’s less like me in other ways, I say,

Or rather I’m less like him. I own one TV set.

He owns a media empire. Plus if you Google

‘John Malone’ his name comes up first,

Second, third … ad infinitum. Ahh, she says,

There’s one way you’re better off than him.

What’s that? I ask though I know what’s coming.

You have me. I have you, I reply. We cuddle.

Blood

 

It happened on a Saturday afternoon at the clinic. The new dentist, an older man on the edge of retirement by the looks of him, was grunting and groaning, going red in the face.

The tooth didn’t seem to want to come.

‘The tooth doesn’t seem to want to come,’ said the dentist.

‘I can see that,’ I said, holding grimly onto the chair.

‘Can you get up and give us a hand?’ he said.

‘What about your assistant?’

‘She’ll never be able to handle this. It’s a two-rooter.’

‘Okay, then,’ I said, hopping out of the chair.

We both gripped the pliers, yanking together.

It wouldn’t yield.

‘Could you put more oomph into it?’ he said.

So I gave it all I had and the dentist did too.

Suddenly we fell backwards as the tooth yielded to superior force.

‘There, that did it,’ said the dentist pleased as I sat back in the chair. ‘It’s amazing what a second pair of hands can achieve.’

‘It certainly is,’ I said, blood streaming from my mouth.

A Unique Way of Forecasting Weather

 

Someone told me once you can tell what the weather

Will be like by studying cows in a paddock.

If the cows are standing, so she said, there’d be

a good chance of rain, whereas if they are prostrate

You could count on fine weather. Or it might have been

The other way around. What a load of bull, I thought.

What if half are standing and half are lying down?

Would that mean a 50% chance of fine weather, or to put it another way,

A 50% chance of rain, depending on whether you were

A glass half full or a glass half empty person? It seemed a little dodgy.

What if, for instance, in one paddock all the cows were prostrate

while in another, they were practising synchronised standing?

Wouldn’t one cancel out the other? And why only cows?

What about prognosticating pigs, lambs, Billy goats?

I decided to go back to the Bureau forecasts.

At least they get it right half the time.

 

Locked Out

 

I don’t know if I was the only one but for three days I was locked out of my own blog, akin to being locked out of one’s own house when the key doesn’t work anymore. There was no earthly — or unearthly —explanation, in fact there was none offered by Word Press. It was a mystery. I had almost given up on the idea of running a blog, an activity I have been happily engaged in since 2012, when on an impulse I checked this morning and voila! The blog was up. Why, is another mystery.At least it has given me something to write about J