Short Fiction

On a swell of lugubrious humour
we went, pluming air, in the morning
feet squeaking on compacted polystyrene
golden Ben, full of the prospect, fawning

On a numb raft of toes we parted
a crystalline sea (Ben
didn't seem to mind though
his arthritis was an infant then

And watched the watery day
pale into significance
breaking many-side mirrors
with no threat of consequence

Care suspended with the early freeze
we stripped to our fantastic shorts
socks and paws on ice like grated cheese
on the pond, we spun a row of noughts

And staring, like the first primeval son
my blonde companion snuffing philosophically
we gazed into the pinhole camera sun
marvelling its black and white photography