Excuse me……


Excuse me,
excuse me please,
can you give me directions to the nearest rabbit hole?
Ex..excuse me,
Do you know where I can find a wardrobe?
I’d like to make an appointment with a lion.
He’s not a tame one, but still…
Could you possibly tell me where to sign up for a transport ship?
Possibly called Firefly?
Wait, where are you going?
How rude.
Hello, may I trouble you for some information on buying mithril?
Good afternoon. Can you direct me to your continuing education classes? I’m interested in languages, especially Quenya. No? Hmm.. how about “Get To Know Your Light Sabre?”
Really, nothing?
Alright, do you have any courses in Castithan cooking?
I’ve sat up late in the garden and waited for the Doctor. (all I caught was a chill. And a slug.)
I have spoken to every badger I’ve come across (admittedly not a huge number…)
I have left honey and crackers all over the apartment (the landlord was not thrilled)
I can’t download the application for Starfleet.
There’s no more space in my rooms for looking glasses, not a single one has even said hi. Bashful things…
I am tired of muggles.
I am tired of mundanes.
I have been PROACTIVE, I have advertised myself as, “Actively seeking employment”…
But the only available opening seems to be for white witch.
I find that I am not very comfortable with the sleigh riding, kidnapping, stabbing, enslaving type of gig…
Snow Queen briefly sounded promising at first, but it was more of the same.
I think I would really prefer a more temperate climate.
Time to do the school run,
and then go to the office.
Clean the house later on.
Maybe I will re-polish those old lamps again. Hard.
And, while I’m at it, take a look through old drawers for that Ring….
Excuse me, have you seen a white rabbit?



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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