My Diary: Waiting For A Rocket To Land With The Voice Of An Angel

June used the horizontal ladder we found in the thinking man’s shed and crawl climbed to work‭; ‬I wrote my initials on the nose cone of a V2‭ ‬rocket just before myriads of small white mushrooms emerged from its piebald casing‭ ‬-‭ ‬I thought if I was tiny enough I would be compelled to climb them‭ (‬even though clouds of fungal spores hung in the air:‭ ‬making silent faces before a smiling sky‭)‬.‭ ‬I then made a fairy face of my own and walked a baleen whale with a small comb as my mouth‭ ‬-‭ ‬I couldn’t engage the lady on the corner with meaningful conversation so pulled out my handkerchief as if it was a sentence‭ (‬this meant,‭ ‬of course,‭ ‬that I subsequently had to blow my nose with a little known Elizabethan sonnet and then clean my glasses with the last words of Sir Walter Raleigh‭)‬.

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