Stripped bare of artifice, showing her cheeky, highlighting her flaws. Musette, a wilted dowager, with hollowed out crescents beneath her eyes. Sitting in her parlor, nursing a wilder sip of cider. As memories danced in her decaying mind. Morphing into shadows, of “once upon a time.”
Thinking shadows, were the Keebler Elves. Hearing voices, a la Mary Poppins, Musette squashed out the corpse of her bent cigarette. Watching it hiccup, a wisp of smoke. Then expiring on it’s filtered rind. In bald ass naked chicanery, revealing more than the flesh. Masquerading insanity, as she chewed a #2 pencil.
Musette’s little half shaker single wide trailer with three cabinet doors. Resting on cinder blocks, one shy of being level. With old stained linoleum floors now scarred with liver spots, fodder for the juju.
Things started going down hill. When a neighbor (GI Joe) noticed Musette speaking in tongue to the trailer hitch. While she was dipping a pinch of Copenhagen Analgesic Aspergum snuff behind her lips. It started weeks ago. Out of touch in a seance, suffering a dull ache as she dealt a Tarot. Speaking to her departed, Osgood’s, algorithms. The gentleman of the house. Now ashes, in a cracked urn. A retired, Wienermobile hoofer.
Joe wasn’t the architect of how to slurp a fountain but her golden shower put out fire in curtain as she passed a kidney stone. Joe was reading CliffNotes on how to eat pussy, as she was choking his iguana.She told the idiot to leave to little fucker home.
She was a tad perturbed because her Chia plant was backing
up her septic tank.The backyard was looking like a swamp drawing alligators. Out of sorts, she unholstered her Yancy Deringer and shot out the picture tube on her vintage black and white television, interrupting, Kukla, Fran and Ollie
Days later, a neighbor found her door ajar. Inside, the room was empty, save for the flickering candle and a whisper that echoed, “Musette is one with us now.”
