Before our births, void of choice, we became part of the story,
During our lives, with a choice, we can't escape the story,
After death, abandoned choice, the story continues to seep.
- Andrew Mansell

Year: 2013

A Boy Could


Andrew Mansell, March 2010.

Know your ABCs?


On a good day nonfiction may tell you the world, whereas fiction will show you the universe.

Andrew Mansell, September 2013.

It Goes On

After sunrise the moon stayed high
Water and milk mixed in my cup
The earth spun slower, the world sped up
Life expectancy rose for the human race
Not for the lab rat or monkey face.
The phone rang without tone
An executive sales officer spoke
Told of steak, veg, apple pie
in a certified organic capsule
Told of a boy who died a girl
And the hairs upon my chest
could be forever removed
Retirement is a lifestyle choice.
I told the salesperson
Cats and dogs can be friends
Machines can really talk
Not only prisoners are behind bars
And I killed someone and got away
Next time take the time to knock
The end of the world will be predicted
right before it happens.
He hung up before I could say
The more we know
the further the universe expands
The less we know
It goes on, much the same.

Andrew Mansell, September 2013.

The Depressants

Claire woke before the alarm beeped and remembered to switch it off. The shower was neither hot nor lukewarm; somewhere in between, exactly to her liking. Her clothes were unruffled and her shoes polished. She walked towards the kitchen with expectancy that something had to change; something had to go wrong and spoil this perfect start to the day.

No, not just yet, her thoughts were quelled. She was taken aback by Chris, who had let her porridge cool enough to dollop honey on without it turning to a fast running sap. He poured her coffee and kissed her. His fresh breath persuading her to inhale deeply.

‘Enjoy the rest of your day,’ he said and smiled broadly. ‘’I’m off.’

Claire watched as Chris seemed to glide across the gleaming floor tiles. He left, closing the front door gently. Claire then looked towards a rattling of dishes near the sink.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

Paul washed. ‘Hi mum,’ he said.

Carolyn dried. ‘Morning mum,’ she said.

They finished their job and Paul asked, ’can we watch the cartoons?’

‘You know the rules about school mornings.’ Claire sighed then sipped on her coffee, wondering why rules mattered.

‘But mum,’ Carolyn said. ‘We’ve made our beds, got our lunches ready, done our homework, practised the piano, let the dog out and look – when you’re finished breakfast the dishes will be done.’

This is amazing Clair thought. It’s not even Mother’s day. She glanced around the house and it really was so clean. ‘Oh, alright,’ she finally said. ‘Just this once.’


Photo by Lu

Photo by Lu

Look at that boy’s fulsome hair
My receding hairline can’t compare
His glowing eyes like rich blue yolk
Mine as red as a finger poke
Nappy clad clean, his hairless tender skin
Freckles, wrinkles, moles for me are in
He’s full of energy, eager for action
I’ll just sit here with a small fraction
Thoughts of fun, mischief, occupy his mind
Lost opportunity, nostalgia, I do find
Joy and naivety in his unassuming heart
Deceit and disbelief has torn mine apart
For him to consume soft bread is a must
Whereas I nibble and savour the crust
He has much to learn, even more to understand
My remaining brain cells take their last stand
His sole of purity will always be fine
This I know because it is still mine.

Andrew Mansell, June 2013.

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