If I had a hammer
I’d hammer in the morning
I’d hammer in the evening
All over this land
— Lee Hays, Pete Seeger, If I Had a Hammer
Whose footfalls plank across this grand waterfall, sifting churns of white froth in kiss with an uncordial breeze. A peacock display of color and eddy as one danced upon the surface of the other, mirrored kaleidoscopes filtering out the famished emptiness of space. A frigid, awful suitor to bride with what, at some angles, appears as life. Tattooed with starlight, punctured by essence beams raining a torrent.
Oh look, mama! The sky is having babies with the sea!
That’s just rain, dear.
But steady the ready rudder, burgling direction from the ocean, and lift the sail, in league with the harsh bluster of eventide. If I were to take the lower road, and you, dear reader, the upper, higher rode, would you indeed land sooner in the middle of the North Sea?
But what about ice, Mr Penguin? Didn’t we once have an entire orb to explore on two slap-happy feet, walking deftly as we were weightless, on nothing more than water? Sr Jesus, did they mention the unseasonable weather that fateful afternoon?
And why stop there, Magpie? Why not walk upon the sky, leaving scat-laden prints in wake? Why not uncrutch your lower limbs, find your wings in the last place you looked and abdicate? Your five-thirty with Dr Icarus has been canceled, and he’s not taking bookings at this time.
Please call back later.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tic-Toc-Tic.
The bleating sound would last forever, muffin hands unprepared to suppress the heat, no less the violence. The screaming came across the sky, a shower of horrorworks, streaking blood draws across the nostril of regnum’s steed-bank.
Hail and vomit poured from the heavens, scatter-plunking down into brine. Vengeance was no one’s, and the good China lay broken. The Midnight Thief had gotten away again, just as soon as everyone had forgotten the time.