SU CHONG

When Su Chong’s lap sang it came as a big surprise,
Her man, Darin spoke no Chinese
Despite his ‘canto knees’—
His ‘Ezra Pound patellas’, as he calls them
Draped in the late poet’s work.
However, in English, Darin is supportive of Su,
Telling her, ‘Your lap’s singing is a fantastic gift!
The thigh’s the limit,’ he quips, and while she gets his drift,
She feels embarrassed by the strangeness of her singing legs,
And the way they started singing with no warning,
She wondered how they knew the words.
‘Tunes from your lap,’ Darin enthused,
‘That will make people clap!’
‘We’ve heard of lap dancers, they’ll say,’ he continues,
‘Now, here’s Su Chong—the world’s first lap singer!’
Looking down at her thighs, Su sighs,
‘They’re quiet now, my legs. Can’t you see?
Not knowing when they will burst into song makes it wrong—
They’re no good to me.’
‘Steady on, Su. What you have is unique!
It’s too precious to abandon in a fit of pique.’
But Darin’s entreaties came too late,
She’d already decided to amputate,
Both of her legs with help from her Japanese Samurai mate.
Afterwards, ironically, both she and Darin were stumped by her peculiar fate.

TROUBLE BREWING (A short story) Part 3

After the TV repairman had left, we received a visit from a plumber. He’d been expected and, unlike the TV repairman, was on time. He came to flush the lavatory as part of a local council survey and changed a tap washer while he was at it. He only charged £250 an hour and told Liz her case was unusually complicated and unexpectedly problematic. For her own safety, Liz was asked to remain out of the bathroom for the next three and a half hours while he worked in complete silence. We assumed he was concentrating very hard during this time after which he appeared from Liz’s bathroom and smilingly reassured her that everything was as good as new.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Liz told him with a cup of tea in her hand. ‘I only recently had the bathroom suite fitted.’
‘Mmm,’ rejoined the plumber. ‘I thought it looked new. ’Ow old is it then? I mean the bog—toilet an’ basin an’ that?’
‘I bought them not six weeks ago.’
‘I thought so. In fact I knew it. Anyway, all clear—Hur-hur an’ I oughta be goin’. ’Ere ’ave this an’ ta, luv. Cheers!’ With that, the plumber handed her his unfinished tea.
‘You haven’t finished your tea,’ exclaimed Liz.
‘Naah, well it went cold, didn’t it?’
‘Huh, that’s what happened to me!’ I said but he was already out the door and in his car turning the engine on. Liz shut the door and looked guiltily at the returned cup. I put my arm around her shoulder consolingly as her chest suddenly heaved in convulsive sobbing as her tea temperature remorse tore at her heart inflicting savage grief and pain.
‘Ssh, there, there now, Liz,’ I soothed. ‘Don’t cry; let me put the kettle on.’ I said magnanimously and promptly made us both a cup of steaming hot tea.

After the plumber had left, we drank the hot tea and I took the trouble to reassure Liz of her total innocence with regards to the plumber’s tea going cold.
‘It really wasn’t your fault,’ I told her.
‘Well,’ sobbed Liz. ‘I suppose the tea was hot when I gave it to him.’
‘Exactly!’ I placated gently. It was as she said and equally I didn’t hold her at all responsible for my tea getting cold earlier and with me, it had happened twice! ‘It’s like my tea went cold earlier as well, Liz—twice! I don’t blame you because I know it really wasn’t your fault.’
‘So I’m not to blame?’
‘No, absolutely not.’
‘Then it can’t be my fault!’
‘No, Liz, it isn’t.’
‘Really?’
‘YES!’
Just then, the doorbell rang, but it was a mistake—somebody had come to the wrong house. Liz closed the door after pointing to number 35, opposite, which is where the mistaken caller really wanted to visit.
‘Ooh, thanks a lot,’ said the grateful mistake maker before setting off on his way.
‘Don’t mention it,’ cried Liz, grateful for the opportunity to help someone. ‘I’m just glad of the opportunity to help someone.’ I could tell by her tone she had cheered up considerably but one look at her troubled face seemed to show me a different story.
‘What’s the matter, Liz?’ I refrained from adding ‘now’.
Her face had assumed a perplexed expression as she peered at the unfinished drink in the cup still in her hand.
‘My tea’s gone cold!’ I couldn’t help laughing when she replied. ‘Any chance of another cup?’ She was rude enough to ask.