Get a grip,
man, and be sure
To hold firm to your task.
Keep your aims in life secure
Forever hold them fast
Do not let cross threaded screws
Or bent and rusty nails
Stand in the way of things to do.
Never be derailed.
But beware too iron a grip
Can danger put you in.
A lack of care can cause a slip
And slice a strip of skin.
[Poem - 18 October 2025]
It was Mary’s third visit to Blind Encounters, and she now knew the protocol. Arrival at the discreet doorway between the nail bar and the florist had to be exactly on time, a necessary precaution to ensure each client arrived unseen. Inside she was conducted to the ladies’ lounge and presented with a small glass of champagne and the eye mask. She sipped the one and adjusted the other for comfort.
“Is madam
ready?” asked a female voice.
“Quite ready,”
she replied’, nervously, wondering what her husband, Henry, would think if he
knew she was here.
Her empty glass
was taken. A hand at her elbow guided her along a carpeted corridor, into a
room, where she knew was a bed. And a man, who was, she was assured, also
blindfolded. The door closed behind her.
“Hello?” said a male voice. Familiar.
She hesitated
before replying, “Henry! Is that you?”
[A one-hundred-and-fifty-word story -16 October 2025]
