The palmetto bug, my ginger wife and the giant crow
My friend, the silver-haired Palmetto bug, blocked the entrance to the tiny cell I had built
for my frightened beautiful ginger wife so to avoid black-maned Giant Crow, an irreputable
figment of a fervid imagination. He haunted our tiny suburban home, and crushed our Honda
civic, and pulped our fruit trees, and converted our rooftop into his crow-pad commune. I fed her
my magic shrinking potion, and transformed her into a tiny figurine who would fit the ¼ inch
square cell, and escape that fearsome bird.
But Palmetto had other plans and blocked the entrance to the cell.
I tried to intervene, and talk him out of it, but he would not listen to reason.
So my red-blooded auburn-haired ferocious wife raised her hammer and attempted to
take him out, but failed miserably, as her aim was not true.
“Nothing good comes from violence,” Giant Crow cooed, as he came upon them in their
argument, and thereupon ate them both.
Ihor Pidhainy