Holidays with Dad

“Portishead? What part of Saskatchewan is that in?”

“Not in Saskatchewan. Not even close. Not far from Bristol though”

“So what about it then?”

“Holidays Dad. Holidays”

“When are ya goin’?”

“We”

“We what?”

“When are we goin’, Dad”

“I’m not goin’.”

“Sure ya are.”

“Nope, not me.”

“Ya can write there, Dad.”

“Write what?”

“Yer poems.”

“I don’t write. I specially don’t write poems.”

“They’re stuck up on post it notes all over the house.”

“Crap”

“I like this one, Dad”

“What’s it say?”

“’This is the beginning of forever and ever’”

“Sounds more like a fortune cookie, ya ask me.”
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“Here’s a good start on another, ‘Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate.’ Pretty deep that. Where ya goin’ with that one, Dad?”

“’Spose, I’m goin’ to fuckin’ Portishead with that one, eh.”

“Yep, ‘spose so.”

Third place in the SpeakEasy – No one is more surprised than I.  No one is more honored than I.  Too cool.  Too cool.

Rules:
• Your post must be dated April 6, 2013, or later.
• Submissions must be 750 words or fewer.
• Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
• You must include the following sentence ANYWHERE in your submission: “Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate.”
• You must also include a reference to the media prompt