by Ray Nessly
Street mime in white face and white gloves, trapped in invisible box. Tip jar empty. Marcel's solo-dancing the tango now, teeth clenching ephemeral rose. Passersby pass him by.
He shackles his arms and legs. Imaginary handcuffs, intangible chains. The padlock's but a ghost. The blindfold? Real.
Master of silence, in bundle on sidewalk, struggling like Houdini.
Tap-tap down the sidewalk goes a cane, tap-tap against the tip jar, tap-tap against Marcel's noggin.
“Ow!”
“Sorry 'bout that!” the blind man says, reaching into his pocket. He fingers his coins, finds just the right one, and plunks it into Marcel's jar.
11
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111 words
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Published-- Boston Literary Magazine Winter 2014-2015
Reprinted by Apocrypha and Abstractions July 11 2016
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He shackles his arms and legs. Imaginary handcuffs, intangible chains. The padlock's but a ghost.
Masterful economy, restraint, and understatement yielding maximum effect and delicious irony.
Quite good.
Lovely irony.
Exquisite
Cool story.
Thank you, Samuel, Edward, Gary, Mathew, Kitty, for your generous comments!
Fine piece. Strong opening paragraph - I first wrote stanza because the lines strike me as a prose poem.
Thanks Sam. So glad you like it.
*, Ray. Your close yields the real and gives lie to Marcel's mime.
Excellent, Ray. Visuals all the way through.
Wonderful. So clearly seen and so clearly described. Nice twist.*
David, Paul, Dianne, thank you for reading and commenting.
What Gary said. Crisp images and details throughout. ***
Excellent work, Ray.*
Thank you, Rachna, and thank you Tim. Much appreciated! I know it's just a number, but it's nice getting that elusive tenth fave.
Love this/ great work, Ray. ***
Thank you, Sandy!