They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly
Feeling tethered, fretful, dispirited; waiting for the next
time that I’ll be pushed inside a cage and dealt the benefit of medical procedures.
And I continue to wonder whether there’s a man approaching with a shovel to hit
me over the head and leave me out for the crows to feed on. I wish they could
just give me a pill and set me free to scuttle back into my wildwood.
This was going to be yet another long and literate whinge full
of metaphors and similes and references to freedom, just because I can and
because the creation of descriptive and sometimes even lyrical pieces of
writing eases the mental nausea. I decided to watch an episode of Inspector Lynley instead.
* * *
I was wondering earlier where the term ‘piping hot’ comes
from. I suppose it derives from the fact that certain foods whistle when air
escapes during the cooking process. Isn’t there something in A Christmas Carol about the pudding
singing in the copper? I expect that’s probably it.
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