The following text will constitute post number 900 since Wharved’s inception just over 6 years ago. I’m very proud of this number! While it’s not quite 1,000, it’s still a whopper, and serves as a boon to my self-confidence as a poet and writer of absurdity. Now that I have this little intro out of the way, please enjoy something completely different.


O: “Skipping right through to the meat of the matter, all I can see is a gaggle of swans just floating and honking while we’re trying to enjoy a leisurely lunch and put all of our animosity behind us once and for all. Can’t Mother Nature take the hint that we don’t need comic relief at this point in time?”

V: “Swans don’t form a gaggle, they form a bevy. I’m not quite sure how I know that, must have been one of those things I picked up along the way, definitely before I ever met you. Now, I appreciate your willingness to bury the hatchet with me, but there are still several things that need to be put out in the open before we can reach any kind of closure.”

O: “I have nothing to hide from you–you know about all the skeletons in my closet. That’s one of the benefits of being a blabbermouth, I blurt out my deepest, darkest secrets without any real encouragement at all.”

V: “I’m still on the fence about that particular trait of yours. There have been plenty of moments I wish you’d never initiated with me, and I could have lived without knowing some of the stuff you’ve blathered on about. I mean, why should I care about your crippling fear of snowmen? We live in southern California, you’re going to be just fine, even if you still haven’t fully unpacked why the phobia developed in the first place.”

O: “Snowpeople. They don’t have to be male to scare the living shit out of me, though Frosty definitely takes the cake. I remember a childhood in Wisconsin, where the Winters were WINTERS, none of this namby pamby temperate climate nonsense. But I must have blocked the specific memories that planted the fear in my psyche. I still don’t know how something as inane as a person made of snow could frighten anybody so much, but I’m sure my therapist and I will figure it out before too long.”

V: “You and your therapist have much bigger fish to fry than that, which leads me to your intolerance for dog walkers. Surely you understand that they’re just normal people who need to earn a living, and not the dog-fetishizing monsters you make them out to be. Are you ever going to get a dog, anyway? This hatred may never actually impact your life directly; I doubt you even care enough about dogs to do anything about a real live dognapping psychopath. I’m sure there’s at least one running around out there, which isn’t good for your mental health. Nothing would please me more than to inform you that you’re getting all worked up over nothing, but I’m a very bad liar.”

O: “You know, I’ve made a lot of progress on the dog walker front. You’re absolutely correct about me never owning one of those slobbery beasts, I can’t stand their constant need for attention and complete dependence on their owners. In fact, I’m starting to think that I don’t give a rat’s ass if a conniving dog walker kidnaps one of their clients and has a field day doing whatever perverted thing they so choose. We live in a free country after all, and those dog owners knew what they were getting themselves into when they agreed to pay a total stranger to enter their home. Anyway, don’t pretend that you’re any better than me–you have your share of laughable weaknesses that I wasn’t going to bring up, but since you insist on bringing up my foibles, I don’t feel the need to restrain myself anymore. How about I start with your need to have correct change for every purchase you make? You can’t just use a debit card like a sane person? You’d rather have a pocket of bills and coins at all times? Talk about obsession.”

V: “Yeah yeah, whatever. Don’t come crying to me when your bank account is compromised by someone who stole your debit card information and took an impromptu trip to Cancun.”

O: “That’s what fraud protection is for, dummy. Whatever, I know we’re just avoiding the inevitable here. Why don’t we just air our real grievances–here and now–like adults?”

V: “That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said since we got here. Hey! Swans! Shut the hell up for a minute! Jesus, they really are starting to annoy me.”

O: “Oh, so now they’re too much for you. I suppose you’ll want to move to a swan-less location now.”

V: “Well, when we’re done eating our sandwiches. I want those damn birds to envy our meals.”

O: “Yeah, that makes sense.”


Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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