Crouching in the trenches;
“Not yet,” the Lieutenant told us,
“Wait for them to get really close.”
“Do you have that new book by that wonderful new author?” I asked.
“Not yet,” the shop assistant said, “they sold out the first run in less than an hour. We all have to wait.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Mom, Dad; this is my new boyfriend, The Abominable Snowman. I call him Yeti, not Yet, but Yeti. He doesn’t like it when people call him Yet… too informal.”
“Jimmy, have you finished your homework?”
“I’m famished. Is dinner ready?”
Somewhere in this house, there’s a plate that holds my past.
Irene says that if we put it in the dishwasher we can have a new life.
Maybe a better life.
I like my life just fine…
When she tries to clear the dishes, I ask her to wait a while.
“Not yet.” I plead.
I don’t have a job.
Denise is the breadwinner of this family.
She calls me a freeloader.
She says I’m irresponsible.
She wants me to pawn my guitar and get a job.
“Not yet.” I tell her.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and hold the cutters close to the wires. My heartbeat is a Taiko rhythm inside my chest.
Blue or red? I have a 50/50 chance.
Murphy says that when you have a 50/50 chance you’ll choose wrong 90% of the time.
“We’re running out of time. Have you disarmed it?” Murphy asked.
“Not yet Murph; and I blame you.”
I peered into the shop and saw them in there. They weren’t doing anything important so I tapped on the glass.
The woman with the big hair looked up at me from her desk.
I pointed to my watch, “Are you open?” I ask through the locked door, with the “CLOSED” sign hanging inside.
“Not yet,” she said and turned back to her colleagues to tell another story.
I spied the pile of oily rags piled in the closet.
“I’m amazed this place hasn’t burned down already.”
“Aren’t you done with this prompt, TN?”