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Vik Shirley - Three Prose Poems



Vik Shirley

The Barista

I woke up one morning and found a barista making coffee downstairs in my kitchen. The coffee smelt wonderful, but I had to ask: “What's going on? What are you doing in my house?” The barista looked up and said: “It was the competition. You won the competition. Don't tell me that no-one told you?" His bottom lip wobbled, "This keeps happening,” he said, as he dissolved into tears. I felt terrible, so told him: "I'll have a soya milk Cappuccino, please. Don't worry, everything's fine," but that only set him off again. I could make out that he was saying something about not having soya milk, so I went over, hugged him, and said: "No problem, I'll have my coffee black." I was wiping the tears from his face, one thing led to another, we made love on the couch and fell asleep. When I woke up he was gone. A black Americano and customer feedback form were on the table.



The Breeze Block

A breeze block waited patiently to be chosen, whilst its peers were selected and taken away for usage, one after another, at a rapid pace. The block tried not to get worked up. It tried to reassure itself that it would be ok, that its moment would come, that it should just relax. But as darkness fell and activity around it began to dwindle, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the facade. With no access to a mirror, the breeze block could only imagine what might be wrong with it. Why had it been passed over in favour of others? Still trying to stay upbeat, such was its nature, it started to think: perhaps these workman are leaving the best for last. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow will be my day.



The Newborn Crime Reference Number

A newborn crime reference number's ears were burning. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” the ghost of a past crime reference number said. “One moment you're flavour of the month, the next you're fading out to nothingness. Unless you're lucky enough to be one of those unsolved crimes that knocks around for years: Still used! Still uttered! Still vital! Oh that's the life! Otherwise you'll be buried and forgotten. But if your will is strong, like mine, then you could end up a phantom, like me, which, it could be argued, is better than nothing.” The newborn noted that the spectre was a little jaded and didn't take his words too seriously. He was quite wise for a newborn. Had a touch of the Dalai Lama about him.




copyright © Vik Shirley, 2020


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