I keep thinking of ways to kill children. It didn't really start until I had my own.

Suddenly, there I was, thinking, Look at this--small enough for him to put it into his little innocent mouth while no one's looking. He could choke! And, My God, turn the pot handle in toward the hot stove. Little hands could reach up and pull the boiling grease all over her. And, Should I put up some type of fence barrier thing on the railing of the balcony? They'll climb it. Of course they will, and one will push the other, and one would start to fall, and he would grab at her on the way down, and they both would fall to their little senseless deaths.

Once you have children, you begin to realize the worst possible thing that could befall a parent in this life. You're keen to inspect the floors. You smell for trouble. Your imagination begins to construct entire scripts in which the young, feckless, and clueless come up against the laws of physics, which are unyielding, and these children will get severely injured or die.

It's terrible, this monster I've become. Every object is scrutinized for the perfect tracheal diameter. Every sharp object is seen as something a child could run with. Little bodies don't like extra holes, unless it's a tube put in for ear infections. And it is exhausting to consider all of the things that could put out an eye. I don't know them all, but I think of new ones every day.

I sand without eye protection, but the little shitling better not even be in the same room.

Just how well do we trust that old dog of ours? Is cat scratch fever really a thing? Let them play outside--really? Are you out of your fucking mind! Is that just some rash or the harbinger of Neisseria meningitis? Another cold--that's two this year--leukemia? diabetes? How do I know this liquid Tylenol hasn't been...yea, that's right...tampered with?

When I'm stopped in traffic under an overpass, I back up a couple of inches so the falling girder will crush me instead of the kids in the back. What's in that aromatherapy machine I smell in Grandma's machine? Eucalyptus? Peppermint? Wintergreen? That stuff can kill them, for God's sake!

Are those vitamins really necessary? What about hypervitaminoses? Did you even think about that?

Yep, just when I think I know all the weird ways to kill a child, a new one stuns me back into the sobriety of mortality. How do I think of these things? Was I a child-killer in a previous life? Or has evolution given my children this survival advantage?

My kids are grown. They survived. And if I so much as catch any of 'em with a cigarette, I'll kill 'em.

Toxic, yes. Stupid, no.

Crack, smash, crack.

Memories of water bubbling up between intact shells.

I forgot they were on the stove. I rushed downstairs, cursing the waste.

Frog, meet pan. Frog, meet fire.

I turned off the stove. Blue flames die beneath the pot.

I go back to more important activities.

I steal a moment to peel.

Let others take on the burden.

I was so impatient in the past. Maybe that's why the eggs were always gouged.

Just good enough to be smashed and mixed with dressing.

The shell and membrane must detach together.

If they separate, it makes it harder, more likely to rip vital chunks.

Crack wisely. Bigger pieces are always better. Start top down or bottom up.

Highs and lows are prominent for a reason.

Another gouge. No matter. There are less than the batches before.

I'll pull more gently next time, less forceful gesture of the thumb.

But even in my caution, I may still create imperfection.

I take note, release the pressure. I am the only one that demands this much.

An egg is just an egg.

In the right light, I catch membrane stuck to the egg white.

I roll my finger along the curvature.

I re-inspect, catch what remains.

The shells were more cooperative this time. Easier to peel.

Flawless, no. But I think I found the secret.

Maybe next time, I'll do it more quickly.

What does a happy person look like?

Isn't that question quite the conundrum?

Happy is a feeling that comes and goes.

If I stub my toe, I will not be happy.

Society would have you believe that

happy is the ideal state of being.

We're taking the Skyway. @Bunny is driving because he loves astral traveling. He hates that we're in one of those creeper vans with no windows so he's keen on reimagining... he's got one hand on the wheel, and the other on the dimple of my knee--Ssswerve, now we're in one of those European double decker trolly buses and it's filling up fast, heading to Prose HQ cuz I say we just have to have to see it, to believe it, as a once in a lifetime experience. @A is sending out invites by sonar and morse code flash. flash. tap. tap. tap. We've picked up @CreativeChaos cuz he's soooooo... excited to see what he calls his City!! He's sitting connecting with @saf and @Mazzy looking at the Stars and spotting the Big Bear aka @dustygrein. @Finder is right behind the driver seat, making sure we don't lose our way. She's checking the moral compass. @Dark slipped in and is all the way slumped in the backseat next to @Winterreign nursing a bottle of San Pellegrino, because he's given up on Perrier. @JeffStewart is on the radio, singing in ultra sonic, but nobody knows that cuz he hasn't made his debut announcement yet. @MeeJong is talking to us through the GPS and I think she has the right address... @ALifeWitArt is onboard taking pictures of everything passing by inside and out, to paint it up later... My friend @Syne is right behind me and we're catching up on old Time, his cat Schrodinger and all things Quantum and @DrSemicolon is asking what happened to @CYS_Correia and @itsdemoray? @Moonchild who changed his name a couple times around's winking at me from a few seats down (I see in the side view mirror ;) and now he's eyeing @LilEngima but @MisterEngima is having none of that. And @DaveK is saying WTFfs... ? while @LillyZ says what did you say hon? and @ts735b IS obnoxiously playing with the windows... @Danceinsilence declined to hop on but encouraged @anarosewood who was more than happy to join us and she's sitting next to @Shells and @FauxHero... @ZekeMatthews has climbed aboard to escape the missus, whew, narcasmissus! @JD4 is somewhere in the middle of several newspapers; one from 2001, one from 84 and another from some point in 4020 something... and some pamphlets borrowed from @markysparky @Batmaninwuhan is on the rooftop cuz he is claustrophobic. Agoraphobic. Little bit Zenophobic. seriously, so @EstherFlowers1 is holding his hand through the window while flipping through a well worn copy of the Best of Spinoza. @Harry_Situation is standing by the door along with @Undermeyou repeating that there is room, always, always room for one more... And @Mnezz is leaning out the back window with a Camcorder, getting it allll on film!!!! @ChrisSadhill is cheering Right On!! and @fudo is thinking up a new challenge prompt... while @Beccawaits, waits. (what! no, she's writing her own thing on cellphone! :) @JimLamb just let me know.

@7v7 is in somewhere in the engine block checking how this thing works from the inside, along with @Z nearby in the MAP sensor under the dash hooking up some special Zapp features for what is now becoming the Prosambulator...

and @LARGE is hollering "WE'LL NEVER GET THERE!" while @SharondBriggs says Keep the Faith!

and we're all right, alright... cuz Prose is not about the Destination...

It's all about the Wride :)

I want to be the reason

You rush to come straight home

I want to be your cuddle on the couch

And your decompression zone

I want to be your laughter

On hard and trying days

And the reason for your breathless swearing

In the early morning rays

A big explosion in the night

Not a single soul in sight

Threw off a bunch of stuff to be

The universe and galaxies

In perfect order do they lay

Spinning circles everyday

And somehow in the midst of all

Our world is born on a little ball

Then out of the soup that somehow came

From all those rocks and all their flame

Unknown forces start to fall

And a little bug begins to crawl

The little bug grows into all that is

From prairie dogs to giant squid

From birds to germs to butterflies

To the monkey puzzle… herein lies

The greatest mystery of all

The monkey learns to stand up tall

And over many spans of time

These unknown forces taught him rhyme

And also, how to calculate

The way by which to enter space

And travel to the worlds unknown

Only to find there’s no one home

My friend you’ll find evolution’s true

When you meet God and God meets you

With your own eyes you’ll see the change

From what you are to something strange

When you find sin is your enemy

Repent and get down on your knees

Then God will take your life in hand

And put you into His game plan

A life of love where hate was king

A heart of joy that learns to sing

Compassion for your fellow man

Thanksgiving for what’s in your hand

You’ll learn to pray, depend on God

Consider carefully His Word

You’ll understand obedience

Why it’s right and makes good sense

And you’ll learn quite unnaturally

That it was God who created thee

And not just any God at all

For only one God took the fall

For all of mankind’s sin and shame

And only one God claims He came

Because He loves us

Ornate cage with views of trees

From this life, why would you flee?

What reason have you? Why do you cry?

When there’s nothing you lack

Except perhaps, the room to fly

The little bird wept

For she knew the price

Of becoming so very well kept

Homophones are homogeneous geniuses

And to two more tumors

Of knotted color, not calor

In court, after four caught, for dual duels

The reporter's nose knows

Who's news with whose noose

It's not fair to have no fare

Whether the weather

Missed the scene of mist seen

And stayed staid that only made

The incorrigable maid encouragable, to

Lead the led there with lead in their head

Those who cast their die, die

The one who leaves, won

Two leaves leave, too

It was undoubtedly her. One glance sparked me back to the grainy, olden day, home movie reel likeness of a knobby-kneed ten year old chasing her older brother’s best friend around their garage while gleefully exclaiming, “I’m gonna give you the chicken-pox!”

And so she had.

Well, so be it. I had come here with the goal in mind of visiting Memory Lane, and there Memory Lane was, sitting at a hastily assembled Friday night table overflowing with estrogen and empty shot glasses. Funny, of all the girls Tommy and I had known back in the day that this should be the one I happen upon on this here and now quest?

This juke joint had once been a hang-out of Tommy’s and mine, but like everything else it had changed. It was louder now, or maybe it was as loud back then and I simply hadn’t cared. In any event, like most changes, the ones taking place here did not seem to be for the better, so I set down my empty bottle along with a couple of bucks and headed for the door. I had almost made it out when I noticed Erin sitting quietly at an otherwise super-loud, “girl’s night out” party table. I hesitated for the briefest moment, unsure of what reaction seeing me might bring, but I was unwilling to pass on the opportunity to talk to her, so circled the table and tapped the back of her shoulder, using the nickname I used to tease her with when she was a kid to catch her attention. “Ernie?” I bent low and close to be heard above the din, so close that we were eye to eye when she turned, so that I saw every emotion flashing inside them; confusion, recognition, surprise… joy.

It was relieving to find joy in there. Almost immediately Erin grabbed my hand in hers and hustled me away from the table and up to the empty dance floor, almost as if she was embarrassed to be seen with me. I resisted, but she was insistent, tugging ever harder. There was an upbeat song playing, but I am no dancer, nor was I in any mood for dancing, nor was this shit dance floor in this tiny bar a decent place for dancing, but what could I do? It caused me to wonder how long the table full of young women had been at it, and just how drunk she was?

Thankfully, Erin wasn’t embarrassed of me. And no, it wasn’t dancing that was on her mind, at least not dancing in the normal sense. But yes, she might have had a few too many.

Once alone at the dance floor’s center we were probably mistaken for lovers, what with the way ’Lil Ernie leaped straightaway into my arms, throwing her legs around my waist, and wrapping her arms around my neck for all of the jealous sinners in the place to witness, pulling herself tightly up against me… exactly as she had that time when she was eleven and her neighbor’s big dog had gotten loose, and I’d been the one who’d come running to her screams. The way she clung gave me the impression that she was still that frightened little girl, even if she did look all grown up now. Her closed lips settled on my ear; not kissing… just comfortably there, breathing their warm breaths. My own arms had wrapped around her lower back, holding her protectively, ensuring that she wouldn’t fall. The seconds ticked by, and the minutes, and the songs. Effortlessly I held her. She should have grown heavy, but somehow did not. Tighter and tighter she squeezed til a teardrop tickled as it circled my inner ear.

And then the hard questions flowed. ”What happened, Huck? Why him? Where were you? How could you let it?”

It’s not easy being that big in a little girl’s eyes. I liked to think that nothing I could have said or done would have changed anything, but she was right. Deep down I knew it. I could have been the difference. I always had been before, back when I was here. But that was exactly why I’d left, wasn’t it?

Only the white knight can know how heavy is the armor, and how weary of wearing it one grows. But to cast that armor aside and stand naked is no more comfortable, is it?

Poor girl. It was the wrong sort of hero‘s web she had spun around the wrong sort of hero.

Hell, her Galahad had not even come home for the funeral.