Do inebriates simply bathe in the booze they drink? Is that why the Friday fog is so heavy around them? Or is their hand-eye coordination so altered by drink that they miss their mouth and mop spills up with their shirt? It’s funny, because despite those missed steps, slurred speech and leering eyes, the drunken…
Tag Archives: writing
6.18.18
A trio of strong women Lit candles in my honour And sang love to me. I sleep and dream And awake Anew.
5.31.18
“We all succumb to something,” I wrote, “Be it life, love Or heartache. Something consumes us in the end.”
Interview with a Serial Killer
I’m a single gal and a career woman, and every now and then I get asked whether or not I go on dates. Usually, I have two answers: 1) Kind of, but I already know the person and the word date is only being used to describe us hanging out for the first time in…
Once you learn what you’re worth, you’ll stop giving people discounts.
4.24.18
On my way home I watch the water; The rain patters against the shore, And a grey-blue haze erupts, Like a heavy-set cloud seeking friends. Quickly the creature engulfs the land, Consuming buildings which fade As if towering to heaven, And dismembering trees To branchless stumps Inconsiderately cut too high up. The spot before me…
4.20.18
I wake up late. Change into an all black outfit, slap sunscreen on my face and wrap an emerald scarf around my neck. My first bus is late– but it’s always late and I’ve made it a habit of catching the one at 7:44am knowing it will arrive at 7:57am. I run out my house…
4.19.18
Two little girls on the bus had a fight. I catch only the end of it As I take my seat in the back. They fall silent after the last hurtful word is thrown, But stay seated next to each other. Three stops pass and the one in brown prepares herself to get off. Though,…
4.8.18
A man eats a brick of parmesan cheese on the bus. Seated next to me, he’s white haired and pink, his bright orange Joe Fresh bag divides us. I watch him eat his smelly brick, the plastic cling falling over his fingers, $19.15, it reads. He catches me staring, but doesn’t say a word. Instead,…
Blackface & London, England
When I landed in London, I took the Southern train from Gatwick Airport to the closest tube station. Naturally, as a commuter, the first few things I noticed were: mind the gap is more valid than it is in Toronto because the trains are NEVER levelled with the platform; the tube is AN ENTIRE world…
