Slap, Slap, Slap


Watching traffic buzz along like aimless bees, I hear “slap, slap, slap” coming up behind me.  I pause a moment before I turn, wondering what this mystery sound could be.  “Slap, slap, slap.”  My mind frolics with possibilities.  “Slap, slap, slap.”  Whimsical rainbow fish falling from the sky?  “Slap, slap, slap.”  A walrus in a hurry?  “Slap, slap, slap.”  A bear on a bicycle with a flat tire?  “Slap, slap, slap.”  I turn.  A little brown man in a dust-colored sweater, hunched against the cold is hurrying.  The sun reflects from his bald dome atop a white ring of hair like an egg.  He smiles a toothless smile as he passes.  “Slap, slap, slap,” go his slippers as he scurries home.  Much better than a walrus in a hurry.

A small stone in River of Stones entry.

Copyright Jean Mishra 2012

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