“Since When Did Blood Dripping Look Like Jam”

Right at this moment

I am not too happy with my eldest Son

Sunday nights

The rubbish goes out

For Recycling tomorrow


Black Bags

“No Glass”

Thats the warning

Fair enough


I pick up the black sack

My eldest Son has put out

and I can hear it making

A rather heavy glass noise

As I put it on the ground


I run up to his Study

Well not exactly run, slow walk

And shout, yes Shout

“Is there glass in that black sack”

“No, of course not” he says startled


Down the long stairs I go

Out to the front Garden

Pick the sack up

Feel the bottom

And  “Ouch, bloody glass”


In I come and shout at him

He shouts back

“There’s no glass in there”

I hold up my left hand

With blood dripping

From a forefinger

Middle finger

Palm of hand


“Whats this damn (not quite damn) Jam”

I shout at him

He gives me a surprised look

And goes back to his Study


“Thats OK” I said

“I’ll sort it out, as usual”

I said smiling

Like hell, furious more like it



Perhaps I spoil them too much

Right now trying to type with one hand

Time to stop


4 thoughts on ““Since When Did Blood Dripping Look Like Jam”

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