Bubble pumper

This one has a lot of bubbles in it...

Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

Well, you know how the survival phase goes by now, so I won’t bore you with anymore details about that; but, I really don’t want to short change you with any of this, so let me say no more just in case you get to asking for just that and I can’t answer you…

Hurry, hurry, there’s a sale on down at the box office, said the official news going haywire.

Oozing out into the rain I listened to the jazz in the raindrops beating down upon some tin top soaking it up. And standing there I knew my fate was not in the corporate media.

This of course did not come as a surprise in my ideas where I was turning blue, and as I became even more, blue, I swam deeper; I mean: how blue can you get?

Image by J'Von Jones from Pixabay

I pumped the bubbles; I was a bubble pumper. And I was coloured blue.

I carried on and wondered: what does a bubble pumper do?

Fate gave a laugh around here and my burnt beard came alive.

Looking down, I saw the world climbing on all sides of me to escape.

Go cups, I shouted in encouragement.

But there is no escape, and you all must die to our philandering, said the beef-men in their hysteria into my vision.

I counted my pennies to see if I had enough for a bag of chips.

But I couldn’t understand how much a bag of chips was.

It was around here that I said: I’ll take a million dark angels to go, and hold the mayonnaise.

Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay

Another bubble pumper in the rain tut-tutted this to me and then turned into an angel and kind of flapped largely away.

I thought of a huge knickerbocker glory and a long spoon.

Flutes and echo on the boundaries is suggested here, said the movie producer.

I had to growl this away and gone or be eaten any way it can.

An image came of puddles jumped as the hero pumped the bubbles.

Image by lumpi from Pixabay

I’m going home now, said the movie producer and left the studio.

I came up for air and grabbed a girl and went into town to run away somewhere else and let civilisation pump the bubbles.

The desert called me where I was trudging and tried to make me disappear into myself and go deep.

Blowing my whistle I came to a full stop.

It was here that I opened the door of the train into the night’s air and was assaulted by the heat and arrival of where I was, and only god knows where that was.

Some things are beyond the knowing, said the wind passing me then.

I took a quick inventory and found a spy spying on me.

Who are you I asked, knowing the answer, but asking anyway.

Bubbles, said bubbles, pumping away.

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

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