Minky & The Escort

[Ven]

Minky & the Escort (Restoring Decorum)

Hidden amongst the van's strange contents, beneath the mirrored wardrobe door and to the left of the dwarf gooseberry that's illogically thriving in a cracked plastic bucket of dry earth sits Minky. She is wide-eyed, balding and Edgar Allen inanimate but a dear friend none the less.
Minky and I ? ... We go way back !
I glide my hand over the cold arch of her back, reminise warmer interactions, then blow the moult from my palm.
Disturbed by my intrusion, she topples; age and loose screws force an unsteady sway upon her plinth. Her lost feline grace leaves me pondering both the reasoning of the amateur taximdermist and the morality of the morose who refuse to let love go.

I search through the jumble of bag-ladyesque insanity that feigns a usefullness within the dim confines of the Ford's glove box, discover a one inch stub of well-chewed, yellow Graffix pencil and faintly jot a reminding (In Defence of Dignity) line in my blue, faux leather bound note-book under a pre-written heading of "Poems to be Written".
I turn to an unmarked page, half scratch / half graffite the word Chaos ... and underline it with excessive enthusiasum !

This van has become the marked victim of a slow motion invasion, useless things have claimed sanctuary in it's footwells and empty boxes marked "Fragile" compete for space and forge great importance behind the mudded glass of it's handleless back doors. Mourning has become the mother of neglect.
Later today, Minkey and I shall be restoring the decorum. Order will be created, paintwork will be touched up and if drying time and daylight hours allow we will encore with the fitting of a rather classy remnant of rescued from the dump Wilton.

I will labour ... and Minky will oversee.

As the day draws to a close we shall make preparations. I will raise a glass and offer cerimonious quotes, she will sit, rickety on her polished cedar plinth and I will glide my warm hand over the cold, dead arch of her back.

She is still moulting and I'm maudling now, missing those old days of warmer and more equal interaction ...
Tears are born, they balance momentarily, then crest the lash falling hot and raw on old, crepe skinned cheeks as what should have been done is lovingly done. The ritual is right now ...
and the loneliness ... Unbearable !



©Ven.Mar08

[preston]

so this is what you've been doing while you were away ... ?

[Ven]

Yeah, kind of. Writing I mean by the way not liberating stuffed cats. lol. Thanks for the read and reply

[Black Star Shine]