Until the day a rakish young

Rogue trader transgressed

Discovered her bona fide value

Marked her worth

Accumulation of personal

Profit his motive

She had always held dear

Her contestable imperfections


That one foot – the left one

Was size 5, the other

A size 6 mattered not

In any event she could

Always outrun the

Strapping lad who lived

Just up the road much

To his petulant chagrin


Nor that she spoke

When not spoken to.

A childhood affliction

She still carried with her

To the dismay of her

Neo-Victorian guardian

A wicked woman, more so

When the worse for mother’s ruin


Her only small regret

Was not having a shadow

For she would have been

A true delight on the stage

Under a stark spotlight

Yet sadly she could not

Sing in tune nor

Tell bawdy one-liners

Or fashion a put-down,

Deliver monologues or soliloquies


She could read minds though

Yet kept that to herself

Rarely used that arguable gift

Until the day came that she

Met the wily, handsome rascal


Two glasses of iced

Mixed berry cider and

A packet of cashew nuts later

She had spilled the beans

Her little secret, an accident

A mere comment her giveaway

Simply told him that yes she was

Wearing black underwear and

That he should keep his

Lecherous thoughts to himself

That he should clean up his act


Too late though for in an instant

He saw an opportunity, a profit,

A colossal illegitimate unearned

Bonus his newfound achievable quest


In short he kidnapped her

Kept her in a basement

Put her in an iron cage with

Nourishment, fresh kit daily

And a 50 inch TV; CNBC on 24/7

He had her read the minds of

The presenters, the pundits,

The advisors, the experts


For his part he always

Wore a lead helmet when

With her for foolishly she

Had admitted her skills

Could not penetrate that

Soft, malleable metal


Two whole years imprisoned

Then one day she had an idea

All her life she had never told lies

Yet determined untruths would

Be his downfall; she fed him lies


His ‘private’ investments crashed

His employers empire similarly

They lost billions

He lost the freedom of

His summer years


Then a stroke of good fortune

For the janitor stumbled upon her

Still caged up, neglected, curled up

In a ball and close to death


The kiss of life is a marvellous thing

Served up with a bowl of salted porridge

And the new found love of a janitor


    1. Me ‘back up and running’! If only that were the case. After decades of insomnia I have managed 3 nights of 7 hours sleep in a row. A good thing? Not – sleeping thus has caused my back to give up and I can’t run anyway – not since an altercation some time ago when serving legal papers upon a giant miscreant! I’ll still marry Olga though for the giant miscreant only knackered my quad muscles!

  1. This just goes to show that lying is beneficial! Also do not talk to strangers! Unless of course he happens to have mixed berry cider and a packet of cashews! I love cashews!

    1. Cashews certainly are rather nice yet never, ever take one from a stranger. On Valentine’s Day I offered the wife a cashew and could hardly believe she was upset…for crying out loud one cannot eat a bunch of roses!

    1. I’ve often wondered if the world would be a better place if we could all read each others minds. If one starts from the premise ‘would it be worse’ and come to a negative conclusion then the concept becomes quite interesting yet I’ve always got stuck on the male/female mind reading bit when it comes to relationships – would it make life simpler/easier or shocking? Fascinating point you have raised!

      1. Hmmm- what about the times when we’re glad it’s your inner voice and not your outer voice speaking? But I like the concept of ‘would it be worse’ when thinking these things through…

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