The colour of jealousy

At table forty, two old farts lean against pints with handles. Their corner is dark and filled with the colours of dried leaves. One has a suit sharp from 1957. The other has a bat-wing jumper that was stolen from the 80s. I have a glass with no handle filled with beer brewed across the river but I’m the colour of jealousy. Their certainty is a skeleton that holds the world in place. As the second pint goes down they stop using words and start using tone of voice and body language; they’re fizzing with anger and cursing sparks of light. Their rage flickers and pushes away the group of women and a baby at the next table. The men do not notice these friends go in search of another table or the fact I no longer envy their certainty.

– Benjamin F Jones

About Graphite Bunny

I am a writer working in South Wales (UK). I love pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains I catch drops in my open mouth. I create poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots and humorous fiction.
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3 Responses to The colour of jealousy

  1. There are too many selfish old farts of that kind in the UK. Try the seaside town where I live.
    Beautifully described — you have them down to a T.

    • Thank you. I describe – which feels like something I should be translating into Latin. I don’t want to turn into one of them – but then I think not wanting to probably means I won’t.

      • Absolutely right. It’s all an attitude of mind. That being said, the other day I hurt my knee whilst attempting to prove that I wasn’t the female equivalent of a boring old fart. My fault for trying to demonstrate some dance moves that I could do thirty years ago to my friends!

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