Pooper Scooper

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Oh, this quirky little story brings back so many happy memories of when life was fun!

Enjoy! You all know the words! - HJ x

Abba photo: pasja1000 at Pixabay

‘I’m like a pooper scooper life is gonna find me, shining in the sun,

Poo-pah-pah, scoo-pah-pah!’

 

Well, that’s half of the allotment manured, only the other half, about thirty square yards, to go. I’ll need to fork and turn the clods of blackened soil by March 1st, if I’m to plant out my garlic shoots, chitted potatoes, broad beans. We had a mouse in the garage over Yule, devil greedily devoured my parsnips. Devil!

Anyways, manuring is good exercise. My shirt and underpants are saturated with sweat. I know: too much detail! This afternoon, before dusk, I’ve managed to dig out, shovel and hump four overloaded wheelbarrows of the stinking brown sludge the four hundred yards from the manure compound to my plot 32A, slipping and sliding and falling on the sloppy wet mud.

Each time I reach the plot, I upturn my barrow, slough out the slop over my muddy, shooting soil, and vigorously rake it over, a human muck spreader. I haven’t seen a dickie bird since I arrived, only the foxes, standing bolt upright nearby, eagerly awaiting my departure so that they can forage for worms. I take a deep breath and savour the stench of rotting manure, wondering why the allotment is so empty, leaning on my spade, reflecting.

It’s hard to believe that it has been four years since I left all my wonderful friends, colleagues, clients, associates, and suppliers in contract catering. I was fortunate to work for the best in the business, thrilled to bits when they threw a leaving party for me. Such wonderful gifts – the spade I’m leaning on, the fork I use to turn the soil, the laptop I write my short stories on, the unusual gold pen with the crowned top, I use to sign my books.

Thank you to all my catering, hospitality, and front of house friends. I will never forget you. How can I when we have been reconnected, reunited, on Facebook? I regret to say the crab apple sapling died, never took to a clay soil, perished at a height of nine inches. Oh, and my Hardy’s of Pall Mall jumper shrunk in the hot wash. Thanks for that, darling!

I can’t believe how busy I am. On Monday nights, I sing with Rock Choir, in the bass section, but I am a high bass, so Nick let’s me sing low alto on Don’t Stop Me Now. We’re doing Super Trouper by Abba at the moment. Oh, yes! (fists the air!).

Well, we all stand up facing sideways!

I watch the others turn their heads to face the front. I can’t do that, turn my head, to face the front, not since I fell off a ladder in 2007 and hit the pavement outside the estate agents, double-fracturing my wrist, dislocating my lumbar L12 vertebrae, cracking several teeth.

I re-join the throng as we sidle from side to side, throw our arms up to the right, point our right-hand fingers in the air, then I sing, cheekily, a broad, beaming, happy, smile on my panting, gasping, face:

‘I’m like a pooper scooper life is gonna find me, shining in the sun,

(Basses) Poo-pah-pah, scoo-pah-pah!’

 

 

 

 


Submitted: February 02, 2021

© Copyright 2021 HJFURL. All rights reserved.

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