Time Turns Into Molasses And Treacle

When inactivity forces one to live in the head,
when all has been done and said, when there
is need for change of scene but no power to
bring it about, the movie projector in my head
having been stopped, dredging up no more
memories, creating no more dreams

Enclosed within reality without the power of
meditation to help me through this boring spell,
in the general chaos, hammering and plaster
and noisy air-cons, I had my illegal sweet treat,
now it’s time to pay-up; holding my head upright
while falling asleep; the air’s getting thick

The flow of time turns into molasses and treacle,
I’m stuck in this moment and cannot move forward,
backwards there is the funny scene in Maskerade
where Iodine tells Peccadillo it’s hard to leave him,
every time I read it I laugh and hubby complains -
You cannot laugh every time! – but I can

Just as he listens to the Springbok’s victory game*
again and again… maybe I should go back to my
book and risk laughing at work, the old man sings
Questa maledetta in a tenor voice and Agnes re-
peats it in tenor also, the pianist leaning his head
on the piano, trying not to laugh

Then she must sing it like Christine and she does
Kwesta!? Maledetta!! the pianist shaking as he
holds in his laughter, he meant she must sing
soprano - getting it right – and for that reason,
the old man was killed, he believed in voices
while the opera ghost believed in looks –

Even if his vacant Christine resembled a
rather pretty bowling ball…

* On Saturday 22 November the Springbok rugby team
won against England

Terry Pratchett “Maskerade”, p. 101 & p. 35