Comfortable Ignorance

Tim read his sister’s winning entry through, comparing it with listed runners-up. He reflected on the superficial ditties with which building society advertisements were enamoured to the point of misidentification as poetry. Perhaps that ill-timed reflection jaded him, for he was not gentle with his critique of Martha’s literary infant.

“’Ill-conceived twaddle’?” She snatched away her manuscript and lunged melodramatically from the chair.

Tim guffawed as the histrionics caused her to jar against the table, but recovered. “Look, you can’t exhale against a corset, whale-bone or otherwise. The rib-cage contracts to exhale, expands to inhale.”

Martha cashed the cheque anyway.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid