OLWG · writing

OLWG# 214- Rosalee Acuff

Written for OLWG# 214



The night I married Rosalee Acuff,
the moon shone a bloodshot red, so
the gipsy woman told us to go
or give it all up.

We had a short window.
We were young
We were impulsive
We were useless

The night I married Rosalee Acuff,
we were up till almost midnight fuckin’ around and drinking.
We wrote a list consisting
exclusively of pros and cons.

We had a short window.
We were young
We were impulsive
We were useless

The night I married Rosalee Acuff,
I convinced her that we should find
an Elvis impersonator to bind
us together – till death do us part.

We had a short window.
We were young
We were impulsive
We were useless

The night I married Rosalee Acuff,
We had a short window
We were young
We were impulsive



This week’s prompts were:

  1. bloodshot moon
  2. I should go
  3. chip away

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Pinot Noir

Dinner had been a beer-marinated Tri-tip With Blue Cheese, Wild Mushrooms, Onions, and freshly baked sourdough bread, heavily buttered.
Lynette served it all with an American Pinot Noir from Sonoma. She had Beignets & Berries served as dessert and had even piped a berry whipped cream into the Beignets. He could tell that she had put a lot of thought into the meal. He almost regretted his plan to kill her. First, though, he wanted to talk more, maybe a coffee. He thought espresso would finish the meal perfectly.
Lynette left for the kitchen to make coffees, and when she came back to the table with two demitasse cups of thick brew, he was beginning to look tired. She mentioned it.
“Yeah,” he slurred, “I’m not sure why. The meal was fantastic. You’re a great cook, Lynette.”
“Listen to me. I know why you are feeling tired. It’s because I put Tetradotoxin in that fine California wine. Did you enjoy it?”
His head nodded and sagged. He began to drool, just a bit. Looking even weaker; his head dropped more as he tried to pull his 9mm from its tooled leather shoulder holster. Lynette leaned over the table and helped him retrieve the gun, but she held on to it. He stared at her with questioning eyes as she released the clip and ejected the round that he had chambered.
“Why Lynette?” he mumbled.
“Why?” she parroted back at him, “Why? Because it would have been messy to shoot you and even worse if I had used a knife. I’ve cleaned up enough of your messes. I don’t want to do that anymore.” She watched his head sink and slowly rest on the table. She finished her coffee before reaching over and taking his cup too. She sipped and smiled to herself. She watched as he died, his breathing becoming more and more irregular until it finally ceased altogether.

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 213- New Knife

Written for OLWG# 213



“Where’s ya goin’ Bea?”
“I ain’t going nowhere, Boy, an’ even if I was; it ain’t none o’ yore business. I wouldna tell ya.”
“You goin’ to school, ain’tcha?”
“Get lost, Boy. I’ll tell yo momma.”
“You gotta be goin’ to school. On account, you ain’t got that big ole dawg o’ yourn witcha. Kin I play witcher dog whilst youse at school?”
“Stay ‘way from my dawg, Boy.”
“Aw, come on Bea. I jist wanna take ‘m fishin’.”
“I jist give that dawg a washin’ las nite. I ain’t gonna lechoo take him to no damn crick. He’ll get all mudded up. He’s all pretty ’n white rite now. I wan im to stay that way.”
Boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of stuff. He started poking through it.
“I’ll give ya this piece o’ lickrice, ya let me taker yer dawg fishin’.”
Bea stopped. She looked at what Boy held in his hand, “I don wan nuthin to do with that lickrice. ‘S got fuzz all over it.”
“Come on, Bea. Lemme take yer dawg fishin’. Wha’ choo wan’?”
“I’ll take yer pocketknife, an I gotta go to the crick with youse and Flour. Deal?”
“Deal!” Boy handed over the folded blade. He and Bea shook hands and turned away from the school. They went to fetch the dog. There was plenty of time to find and cut a slender branch for fishing, and Bea had a new knife.



This week’s prompts were:

  1. ain’t going nowhere
  2. easy gratification
  3. a dog named Flour

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 212- Mireille in Haibun

Written for OLWG# 212



When I met Mireille, she worked at the library in Colmar. An ancient, walled town in Alsace that lies to the South and West of Strasbourg. She was young, alluring, and exotic. She was blonde-haired, beautiful, and in some way, was related to Bartholdi, the sculptor. The result of her beauty, coupled with her famous lineage, was a strong sense of self-importance. I don’t mean that in an unaccepting way, she was young, bright and gorgeous. Mireille smelled of a cool breeze coming off the sea. She was an insatiable lover. I had the pleasure of her company that midweek from dusk till dawn. We never left my hotel room – eating bleu cheese and coleslaw from the room service menu – devouring one another until the sunrise.

She dried a bit stiff,
She was laundry on the line
But she smelled so fresh



This week’s prompts were:

  1. a ruby red right hand
  2. laundry on the line
  3. bleu cheese and coleslaw