She Sits Weaving

She sits weaving
The ribbon dives and rises again
Like a bird on the hunt for sea tucker
She sits weaving
She’s dreaming of delicious things for dinner
Thinking of the wee roast pork in the oven
She sits weaving
She is slowly dawning to the idea that something is burning
She wonders what it could be
The pork is far too delicious to burn
The idea of burning pork cannot be a reality
And so she sits weaving
Threading the ribbon in out in out in out and over
And the smell rises
The pork burns black
The smoke begins its dance
As the oven door explodes
This she cannot hear
For pork does not burn
For pork is too delicious to burn
And slowly the oven melts
And the walls crackle
And the smoke drifts
Growing into dark streaming ribbons that billow throughout the house
She sits weaving
Knowing something is wrong
But it’s not the pork
It would never be the pork
For the pork is too delicious to burn
And not realizing the reality
She sits weaving while the ribbons of noxious smoke
Intertwine with the ribbons in hand
A marriage of science and art
The truth now hard to ignore
As she grows weak and weaker still
The smoke winning this round
She no longer weaves
She slumps forward and passes away
And all disappears to a dark ash grey.

Bears Rebellion 16/02/15

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