Tag: Drabble

Rabbits, Radish, Rap

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Few people knew that the famous rap singer was a radish farmer. Between tours she tended  three-acres in Mendocino. She did it for the bunnies. 

Most of her neighbors were pot farmers. They had turned the neighborhood into a bunny-free zone thanks to the crop they grew. Bunnies get very sick from THC. But the rap singer brought the bunnies back. 

Soon, they were stripping her radishes of their tops. The singer built a studio in the barn where bunnies danced the bunny hop and ate radishes. The singer’s new sound, munching and thumping, was a huge sensation.

Radish, Rabbits, Rapping Redux

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Rapping rabbits, reaping radish,
Ruddy, spicy, earthy, raffish.
Crunchy red, dicey tribe,
Nibbles, wiggles, saucy vibe.

Hey, yeah, whatcha saw,
In the garden, giant maw.
Open, rapping, tails snapping,
Radish beat and bunny dapping.

Dig it, dig it, from the soil,
Dig that radish, toil, toil.
Little claws feed little maws.
Eat the beat, cure the blahs.

Hey haw, whatcha saw?
Peter Rabbit in a brawl,
Fists be punchy, throw a paw.
Gonna call em, call the law.

Sirens sound a red alert.
Sirens scream one damn loud blurt.
Leave the fields, hop the fence,
Dude don’t owe no recompense.


Seal Up Evil in a Wooden Box

The Robert A. Heinlein memorial award, in wooden box by Unknown maker is licensed under CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0

Pandora breathed in the garden’s verbena scent. She breathed out a spell to quiet the unicorn and summon the dragon, then she rubbed the genie’s lamp. From the ground, she pulled a box so ancient and filled with grievance that it groaned. 

It had taken centuries to master herself well enough to undo the past. She was ready, with help from her friends, to reverse the mistakes she’d made as an impetuous youth. The four  breathed wishes into the box.

It roiled. Disease, pestilence, greed, slavery, the evils of the world poured in and settled together. Pandora closed the box.

Departed on St. Patrick’s Day.

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Gillie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not magic.” What she meant was, the delicious taste of spring flowers and green hills was missing from her St. Patrick’s Day oatmeal. 

“It’s green,” her father said.

“Did you dye it?”

He swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“Where’s our leprechaun friend?”

Her father produced a note from his pocket.

“I’m off to the motherland. It’s not safe here.”

“Did NICE deport him?”

“The witch hunts are over. Now they’re hunting leprechauns.”

Gillie pushed the bowl away. “They’re not nice. It’s opposites day every day.”

Her father wrapped her in a warm hug, powerless to do more.

Method Writing

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Though she covered politics at the Tribune, Jenny wrote nothing but romance.  Her approach came from a place of genuine empathy, perhaps because she was having an affair with the mayor of Topeka at the time. 

The mayor’s husband played along. He’d often wondered what was missing from his wife’s campaigns. Turned out Jenny was the secret sauce. Once she started following a candidate, they ended up in bed. This gave Jenny’s reporting authenticity and, being so close, she could  zero in on the candidate’s humanity.  It’s what the public wanted and Jenny’s motto was, “The  reader is always right.”

The New Orders

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Inside the church, Doris found a gift shop. A number of books, hats, mugs, and crypto coins stocked the shelves. A wizened old man sat at the counter. “Can I help you?”

Doris said, “Isn’t this the unemployment office?” 

“Everyone is employed. Everyone who wants to be.”

“I was laid off. They gave me this address.”

“What about a Bible? Our thoughts and prayers are in there.” His glassy stare put her off.

“Where can I pray, then?”

”Inside, to the right. There’s a soup kitchen in the basement, too. God be with you.”

The pews were empty, but the soup kitchen was full.

The Perfect Pet Cow

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Ellie groped for a pitcher to hold her morning milk. The pitcher felt warm. It moved and mooed when she touched it. It had the same fresh smell of country lanes that had attracted Ellie’s attention as she browsed the housewares aisle of the local thrift store. The pitcher had been only five dollars. She thought she might be asleep.

Overnight, the pitcher became a cow. She fed it salad and built a small platform with a hole in the center for the cow to stand on. She placed her tea cup under the center hole and squirted in milk.

Wishes Come True

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Jack spent the change from his mother’s lottery ticket on a pen. The hawker wore tattered clothes, even more tattered than Jack’s. Maybe the boy felt sorry for the man. These magic markers hadn’t brought him luck.

“Write your wish on a piece of golden paper tonight when the moon is bright. Bury the paper under an oak tree and say a prayer.” 

Jack thanked the man. He took the lottery ticket and the pen home to his mother.

“You spent my change for that.” Still, she gave him paper. It was barely in the ground; she shouted, “We won!”

Can Dreams Be True?

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The dog died under a fallen fence in a thunder storm. Marley suspected that Ginger hadn’t been ready to go. Sure enough, they met up in Marley’s dreams. Often, Ginger had advice. It was like old times, minus the vet bills, though it was odd to hear Ginger talking. 

Their discussions got uncomfortable when Marley started dating a colleague. Ginger had strong opinions about clandestine office romances. 

Marley reminded Ginger that she herself had been guilty of digging under the fence to meet a handsome Doberman. 

Ginger wept big doggie tears. “If I hadn’t been digging, I’d still be alive.”

How to Turn a Gremlin

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“It’s a wonder I don’t do more damage. I bunk in the wheel well of an airplane and live on leftover military meals.” Unrepentant, the gremlin had been caught sabotaging a bomber. 

The interrogator didn’t know what to think. The gremlin was no more than three feet tall, dressed in rags from a bygone era, and furry enough that the wheel well story was credible. “Whose side are you on?”

“Are there sides?”

“There’s a war on.” The interrogator felt sorry for the stubborn creature. Would he work for the Allies? He looked so miserable. “How about some home cooking?”