“I can’t believe you asked him that!“ Ralph slapped Andre upside his head before he passed him a wad of paper napkins.
“Yeah, me neither.” He took the tissue and dabbed it at his face and chest. “I’m such an idiot.”
“That and you stink of beer.” Ralph sniffed at him.
“I would never have thought—“
“--yeah that’s obvious.” Ralph shook his head and turned around on his barstool, hopping down on the far side, making sure he didn’t land in the puddle of beer around his friend. “Thinking really is
The 'I' is always problematic. In this case I wrote 'my' which suggests there is an 'I'. There is the volcano, which destroys but the lava will also be good soil eventually. A person, the 'I', can destroy, with words, with what they do, but it can also be the foundation of a new beginning.Did this make sense? Maybe I just thought too much about this.
Thank you for your comment Ron, I'm glad you enjoyed the poem. 'Grace' hmmm nice, love it.
Ha! But that's exactly it. It's the Etna on Sicily. I thought it's a good image of how something destructive can also create life, literally and personally (as in what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.) Thanks Irri.
Okay so I cheated by reading your response to Irri's comment. I'd never dared to say I actually thought of air-condition when I read this. LOL Very good, Ron.