Shrapnel Cheese

Shrapnel cheese and pork pie fragments. Feeding frenzy around a table, patchwork papered with crepe. I look for someone I know as I load up your plate with marshmallows in pink and white. Skip sweets in a bowl which look like the cubes from the urinal. A fairy’s hand delves into cake, chocolate excavation smeared on face. ‘How’s your little girl?’ The fairy’s mother sets the question in the space between us with the princess sandwiches and cucumber trodden into the floor. Sugar on lips like a rumour. I wonder if anyone saw me look at my watch. The fairy wipes chocolate on her dress and spoons pop from a plastic carton. ‘There are a lot of bugs going round,’ I say over the toddler hurricane. I feel conversation pour between my teeth, beyond my control. I stem the flow with a ham and cheese sandwich.

– Benjamin F Jones
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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 Shrapnel Cheese

  1. Ooo, I can really feel the stickiness of it all. I love your last two sentences in particular as I know absolutely that feeling of conversation pouring between one’s teeth, beyond control. Well written.

    • Thank you very much. Amélie is getting a bit old for them now – big girls don’t really want their dads there. I went to another one on Saturday and having parents there would have been decidedly uncool.

      • I guess that youngsters have to say that, even if sometimes (secretly) they’d like to have a parent with them. It’s a case of not allowing themselves to appear uncool in front of their peers. The funny thing is, that even if they don’t have a problem about it, none of them ever dare admit it and so we’ll never know!

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