If I were …

If I were six again, I would wish
A latimeria for main dish.
Then I’d look at the cloudless sky
Ank ask again: “Tell me, why is
The sky blue while grass is green,
Why is lily not called daffodil?’
In winter I’d watch snowflakes fall,
I’d shave blond hair for my doll
Which I’d call Christy – she became
A real tyrant! And with her fame
I’d rule my whole kindergarten!
(devilish laugh) And that is
What I would do if I were six.

Daniel Appelby, a London yuppie

Today I have a rare chance to make a good deal. Several days ago some French winemaker got in touch with my company and offered us to buy his wine. His family have produced an extraordinary red wine in Bordeaux for almost two hundred years. We’ve found out that his financial situation is bad. He is in debt and has nobody who could inherit his family business. My idea is not to buy the wine only but the whole vineyard, together with the wine and perhaps with that frog eater. I expect the negotiations to be hard. I have a plan how achieve a success. I suppose he is proud, but vain too. People like him think that they are the best winemakers in the world. I’m going to tell him that he produces the best fine wine, that the wine is exceptional, with a strong bouquet and rich fruity flavour etc. He will agree with me. The first “yes” is very important in negotiation. When I tell him that “a high quality wine doesn’t have a chance to sell well in supermarkets” he will be unable to disagree with me. Then I’ll present my terms. I know he will have to sell it. I’m looking forward to the moment when the British will not only be consumers of wine but buy its producers as well.

Maurice Colbert, a Bordeaux winemaker

It was a terrible day. I felt very nervous and uncomfortable. I knew I couldn’t wait for another chance and I had to sell my vineyard as soon as possible. When Mr Appleby tasted my wine I thought he appreciated its quality. He admired the taste, aroma and colour and I was sure he enjoyed it as an expert. But when I heard the price he offered I was shocked. The vineyard was a very important part of my life. My family and me had worked there for many years and taken care of every detail of winemaking. Finally our vineyard had a very good reputation in the region of Bordeaux; I was very proud of it. But that didn’t matter much for the young Englishman. It was just another transaction for him. For me it was like selling part of my life, part of myself, part of France – just for a miserable penny.

Good morning, doctor …

Ewa and Kasia from Tulips wrote:

Psychiatrist: Good morning.
Woman: Good morning, doctor. Can I come in?
P: Yes, please. Do sit down.
W: Thank you, doctor.
P: What seems to be the trouble?
W: I have horns.
P: Pardon?
W: I have horns!!!
P: Where?
W: On my head.
P: Mmmm. How long have you been like this?
W: About a month.
P: Well, don’t worry. I think you have very beautiful horns.
W: Really?
P: Yes. What is your job?
W: I’m a receptionist in Heaven.
P: Very interesting.
W: What can I do?
P: You should change your employer. Ask the Devil for a job.
W: Good idea. Thank you, doctor.
P: Goodbye.
W: Goodbye. See you in Hell.

I want you to …

smell chocolate muffins baking in the oven
smell red roses in the garden
smell chicken roasting for lunch
smell the air after a storm
smell morning coffee
hear someone playing the piano
hear rock music in the street
hear street noise at rush hour
hear people arguing in the park
hear dawn chorus in May
taste strawberry ice-cream in July
taste pepperoni pizza when hungry
taste cold, sweet, white grapes in October
taste white chocolate before going to bed
taste seafood by the sea
feel me touch your cheek
feel dog’s fur
feel snow melt in your hand
feel a prickly conker in your hand
feel cold sea water on your feet
see an expensive car going fast
see a sunrise in June
see a fascinating film on African wildlife
see hailstones falling on grass
see a shooting star in August

Last May, Thursday afternoon

When I heard he was dying I tried to focus on something different. Ordinary life became difficult – looking at things turned into staring at them, planning was doing nothing, learning was forgetting, preparing for Matura was just sitting on the sofa on a dark afternoon … He was my friend. We shared the same school desk in gimnazjum. Now he was dying. I had just decided to be a doctor, to save people’s lives, an extremely difficult mission.
Behind the window, I watched the garden full of spring-green, just woken to life, flowers embracing the whole sky with their petals, and that sad, darkening afternoon. Books lying on the table and a cup of offended, cold tea.
When I realized he was dying I tried to focus on something different. It was hard to stop crying. Walls seemed to be hearing my thoughts. In the evening the flowers closed their petals. My feelings of anger, rage and helplessness slammed.
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The bubbly haiku

champagne bubbles burst
while entrapped words markedly
break pregnant silence