WDYS: The Key to Her Heart

Image credit: Photomix company @ Pixabay

He comes for his things
But pauses at the door
Forced to ring the bell

My key doesn’t work, he says
I changed the lock, she replies

He gives her a boyish grin
How about a cup of tea?
All right, she says

They sit in the kitchen
He reaches for her hand

I’m sorry I hurt you
Can we try again?
Let me make amends

She sighs, and hope dies
Can I have a biscuit, then?

The tin is slid towards him
They’re all broken, he scowls
She raises her head and smiles

Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #108 photo prompt.

Song Lyric Sunday: Up the Junction

The themes for Song Lyric Sunday from Jim Adams are Birth, Death or Life.
The song must contain a reference to the prompt in the title or the lyrics.
If the song does not meet these criteria, please explain why you chose it.


Up the Junction by the British band Squeeze, charts the life of a relationship from birth to death. The song was inspired by a 1965 TV play of the same name, which in turn was adapted from a collection of short stories by Nell Dunn.

The phrase up the junction is polite British slang for being up a certain creek without a paddle. Which is the conclusion of the song’s narrator when his drinking breaks up his family, and he’s too proud (stubborn!) to beg for forgiveness.

Fans of EastEnders will notice Michelle Collins wandering around in the video’s background and, yes, that is a young Jools Holland on keyboard.

Are you ready for a bit of musical kitchen-sink drama with some crazy half-rhymes…?

I never thought it would happen
With me and the girl from Clapham
Out on the windy common
That night I ain’t forgotten
When she dealt out the rations
With some or other passions
I said, “You are a lady”
“Perhaps,” she said, “I may be”

We moved into a basement
With thoughts of our engagement
We stayed in by the telly
Although the room was smelly
We spent our time just kissing
The Railway Arms we’re missing
But love had got us hooked up
And all our time it took up

I got a job with Stanley
He said I’d come in handy
And started me on Monday
So I had a bath on Sunday
I worked eleven hours
And bought the girl some flowers
She said she’d seen a doctor
And nothing now could stop her

I worked all through the winter
The weather brass and bitter
I put away a tenner
Each week to make her better
And when the time was ready
We had to sell the telly
Late evenings by the fire
With little kicks inside her

This morning at four-fifty
I took her rather nifty
Down to an incubator
Where thirty minutes later
She gave birth to a daughter
Within a year a walker
She looked just like her mother
If there could be another

And now she’s two years older
Her mother’s with a soldier
She left me when my drinking
Became a proper stinging
The devil came and took me
From bar to street to bookie
No more nights by the telly
No more nights nappies smelling

Alone here in the kitchen
I feel there’s something missing
I’d beg for some forgiveness
But begging’s not my business
And she won’t write a letter
Although I always tell her
And so it’s my assumption
I’m really up the junction

Songwriter(s): Chris Difford & Glenn Tilbrook
© 1979 A&M Records Ltd, Universal Music Publishing Group

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: What If…

LindaGHill hosts Stream of Consciousness Saturday.
The prompt is IF. Start your post with the word IF. Enjoy!
Click HERE for the rest of the rules, and to play along.


If I love you and if you love me
Think how happy we could be!

But…

If I become who you want me to be
And you become who I want you to be.
Where will we be?

However…

If I am who I want to be
And you are who you want to be.
Shall we see what we can be?

Ticket to Ride

Photo credit: https://www.pexels.com/@athena

Every morning, I would watch when you left the house.

You’d cross the road with a rucksack over your shoulder and a cigarette in your hand.

Together, we would wait for the bus.

You always took the seat on the right, three rows back from the driver.

And I always stood at the window until you disappeared from view.

My private moment when I said goodbye.

Knowing you’d be back, and knowing I’d be waiting and watching, and loving you.

Today, I watch you leave.

The rucksack is the same, but a suitcase has replaced the cigarette.

I will wait with you for one last time.

Knowing you won’t be back.

Knowing all that we had is gone.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Cakey and the Growth

LindaGHill hosts Stream of Consciousness Saturday.
The prompt this week is GROWTH
The post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing
(typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.
Click HERE for the rest of the rules, and to play along.


We called them Cakey and the Growth.

She was sweet enough to give you diabetes. Nothing was too much trouble for her.

He clung to her like ivy, as if he wanted to burrow under her skin and become a part of her.

She worked in the finance department and he worked in IT. At break, lunch, and after work, he would wait outside her office like a well-mannered stalker.

They would embrace and walk off together, arms entwined, their heads close as they talked in soft voices to each other.

Cakey and the Growth, always together, finishing each other’s sentences, leaving parties early because they couldn’t bear to share their time with other people.

She would smile her sugary smile, and he would hold on as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Cakey and the Growth, when two became one.

For a time.

Cakey is no longer with the Growth. She is still inside and he is still in a coma.

The Growth turned malignant and to save herself, Cakey excised him.

She may be incarcerated, but at least now, she is free..