The painters stole the colour from my garden
The colour has been stolen from my garden, the painters are to blame with their splotches and swatches of paint everywhere, masking the sunlight, blanketing the flowerbeds. The whole world is fading, and society needs an overhaul. A top story in the London papers reads, "I had casual sex for a whole year!" Really?! A grown-up woman said that, in the newspaper that will wrap my fish and chips tomorrow. Ugh! Morality is wilting beside the colorless flowers in my garden. Meanwhile, a dignitary has died. And just like unemployment, early childhood injuries are on the rise, The economy is receeding, while fast food chains and beauty salons flourish. Nobody says sorry anymore. I watch the painters sidle from my yard, closing the freshly painted black door behind them. They stole the colour from my garden, and they didnt even say good-bye. So, I chew on yesterday's sausage roll, sharing it with my loyal dog. "I'm sorry," I say, patting her head. "I wish ther...