Parallel Skips and Hops
Upward stretch until fingers entwined part ways for the sweet sake of sunshine kisses.
Winter neglect had to at last let go. Those nights made for marshmallow melt cocoa; swell as they were for warming the belly, lost novelty’s luster a long month or so ago.
“Bless me and bless this day. Before this hot beverage reaches these parted lips, already core sectors such as my inner engine chamber know nourishment.”
Did the sunny friendly daisy from yesterday jump from her wholesome midwestern field of values into this intro, not as though an echo but the truth of echo or nothing to do with any kind of echo but the breath of purest chumminess enveloping vulnerable blossom?
Hot hits.
Day lost balance.
Yearning implies outward, upward, plea. Thirst for nectar from the wholesome values vending machine. Wholesome values vending machine. Why does it roll off the tongue like poetry?
Flash. Split micro second.
Spat back to the present, minus flash, or memory of the flash; memory of hot hits gone.
Fat face shaven clean; paraffin mouth fit with lips wearing superfluous red; wide smile beaming synthetic positivity.
“Did someone say Wholesome Values Vending machine? This is your lucky day! If you sign up for the three year plan we will install the Wholesome Values Vending machine at no extra cost. Need a shot of refreshing optimism? Hit that hot button and it is in your hand and right away on the way to your pleading tongue. This offer is for a limited time only. Wise men act now. The fool lollygags, starts and stops, lets the window close. Be a wise man I know you are – the wise man you aim to be – and do. Do now.”
“Sure you have orange, lemon, tangelo, mandarin. Bet you don’t have mango and papaya.”
It was confusing enough to wonder where the cartoonish being came from; not to mention how he became the he featured focus instead of what was clearly a she who opened whatever this can be said to be. Must’ve been an imagined mini scene that managed to seem real in the tactile style as the white drapes fluttering from the long awaited pre-spring breeze through the kitchen window’s first opening since November. And for this moment, as tactile real as the strange character’s face – and the unnecessarily compressed vocal quality.
“May I count you as a client if I can show you that our Wholesome Values Vending machines can indeed come with mango and papaya dispensing options? It is easier to prove this if you invite me in.”
“Now that is not a tactic I appreciate at all. Obviously your Wholesome Value Vending machines do dispense mango and papaya. Why did you not just say so?”
“Because it is not my design?”
“Excuse me? Design? Can’t you make your own decision? Can’t you… can’t you design a promotional tactic without the head-clobber element? Or practically pushing your self into my sacred personal space?”
“Take it up with my designer. Your designer too. Your world’s designer. If you are one of the foolish who refuses to acknowledge your designer, you might consider how you manage – or do not manage – your thoughts, the things you think about, and how vivid they get, these things you think about.”
Explosion. Machinery that had manufactured thoughts for going on seven earthly decades; obliterated into zillions of newborn universes. Again the cry. Blinking scene of daisies. Daisies whimsically waving, dancing. Why must knowledge elude?
“I don’t want a vending machine of any kind. I don’t want instant answers. I want to sit here in peace and enjoy my coffee. I want to know nothing and wonder about everything.”
She squinted.
“Parallel me?”