If there is anyone there would they kindly make themselves known. No peeking. Put down the pasteboard mask. Be forthcoming. The floorboards creak and I see footprints forming in the the flour I cunningly scattered earlier. This is a strange old house. the rusty pipes rattle even when the bluebirds sing. I wish I had rainbows but at this time of life that can hardly be expected. Maybe the captain will show up soon. I've missed him; lets be honest about this. He was never my lover but his thin rapier makes me squeal. The river runs slowly through its grey banks of piled up mud- slickly shining in the arc lights of the motorway.
