Poetry

H.U.Gs

We sell heaters for 99p. They’ll not oil filled, or gas fueled; not even blower heaters. They’re fleshy and warm: heart utilization generators. H.U.Gs for short. Most people walk straight past them, not trusting them to be efficient enough for their needs. So they sit there on the shelf, year in, year out, gathering dust. I thought I’d tidy them up today, display them a bit better. I sold two in twenty minutes. The buyers were the happiest customers I’ve ever seen.

Poetry

Love hearts

I like how when we’re together and you think no-one’s watching, you give me your last one. A small, round candy piece with a heart on it, which has cute, but mostly silly, cliche messages inside. Be mine. Kiss me.  For keeps. I love you. This time, I give you my last one. Marry me? You bite into it, a nervous laugh leaves your lips as you try to decide if I’m serious or just joking. I’m serious.