On an unusually bright and sunny morning the Wretch is whistling
whilst fixing his two marionette puppets.
“Be careful you don’t get the strings intertwined” the Anarchist shouts from the top of a cairn of stones.
“Be careful you don’t slip and fall from your haughty height!”
shouts back the Wretch.
The Anarchist ignores the spiteful warning of the Wretch as he
dislodges the guava pips of last season’s pudding from his teeth.
The Loner, as is his predisposition, keeps clear of this prickly conversation and waters the artichokes that have just showed signs of growth.
From a distance the Prehistoric Postal Agent can be heard bellowing
“Hats, hats, hats for everyone!” as he swings a colourful array of headgear in magniloquent circles above his head.
“Thank Godot for this! The sun would have fried any last sense of humour out of our skulls” cried the Wretch.
The Cross Roads is such a merciless place.
“Why has the Carillon not announced my auspicious arrival?”
inquires the Prehistoric Postal Agent with a semi-dejected frown.
The Cave-Dweller who is not used to so much sun
sluggishly drags himself to the latest activities at the Cross Roads
and answers “The Carillon is still suffering from the humiliation of
his broken bell.”
“I know what I will do” pipes in the Wretch. “I will get my two marionettes to give us all a delightful divertissement. That is sure to distract the Carillon from his most sorry state.”
As the mood seems to lighten over the Cross Roads, the Anarchist had to ruin the moment with his insurrectionist attitude “Marionettes are just a show of deplorable hierarchy and control.”
The Loner, still tending his bed of artichokes, peers into the harsh rays of the sun and tries to wave the heat away with his new hat.
The Wretch lets out a heartrending howl and pounces on the Anarchist
"You are just jealous that I have found a way to soften the harshness of these indomitable plains! I will go forth with my puppets to our beloved Carillon. He will be too happy that I have found an antidote for his affliction."
The Prehistoric Postal Agent always wanting the last say, squeezes in an exclamation "Don't forget to take your hat!"
The links to the previous four Cross Roads poems >