Big Guys at the top

 After work, after the business of life, the team had been eager to settle at the nearest watering hole. It had been a rough day.

Hey, Jim. How did the office manage all that blow back from the big guys up at the top?
   

"Well, you can imagine, Tom. It blew them all away. I mean, what did they expect when the stink settled down after the clean-up crew took care of the rot?"

Again, all nodded. The fifth co-worker, Kevin piped up. "I'm exhausted. We complain every day. Can't do anything about them. They can take us down without a thought."

 
  "Big guys at top? They live well, really well. I mean they go to work in their spiffy black suits,

 

"Big guys at top? They could eat us alive, or dead."

 

 

 

They grumbled and took off for home where family and friends lived. Come sunup, they would be at work. At sundown, they would be lined up again. 

The big bosses were already singing together their raucous out-of-tune songs. In their black suits and ties, they smiled at their success.

Silently, the crew left, singing songs of their own,

sweet songs.

Bosses of the sky, bosses of the trees 

They stayed.

The bosses in black suits

Singing raucous songs, non-stop songs

 

This is a repost of 2019 post. The blackbirds are swarming about, singing. I wonder what they are saying.

When the man comes around

 

Johnny Cash had a way of shaving away all the unnecessary surroundings and get to the heart of the matter.

There are so many recordings that tell the story of his life as a solo voice.

 Wayfaring stranger: His voice, oh my, his voice.  No one can duplicate or match his voice.

When the Man comes around...

Johnny Cash sang to every person, meeting them with his voice and welcoming them to sit down and listen.  

What the witch saw...

 From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.....

From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by, remembering sadly her lovely forest home.  A forest fire had raged and taken her ancient house, with the only safe place to hide was behind an old iron stove.

Sigh, so many memories…

Today Wanda was waiting for the painter, whom she had hired from a town 200 miles away, to come and cover the hideous pale blue kitchen walls with bright swirls and stripes. How can anyone stand such blandness, no excitement, no taste?

Wanda rocked and gazed through the screened in-balcony, seeing neighbors was along the street in front of what was now her home.  A jogger, who was drinking bottle water…well, he's a bit stringy! Tsk. Tsk. 

Then a muscular man walking his miniature poodle strolled by.  My, he’s burned off every bit of fat…  He waved at Wanda, as she called out, “Hello, dearie!”

Then the mailman who walked briskly, no time to linger…then the old woman with walker, skin sagging from her bones…

Finally, a rusty truck braked in front of her house, and “Painter Pete” stepped out.  “Howdy there, Mz Wanda!  I’m runnin’ a bit late, but…”  Wanda had ceased listening to his prattle.  She was instead noticing fat buttocks, portly love handles, a pudgy gut, and massive possibilities. 

“Come right in, Mr. Pete!  I have been waiting for you!”

Yes, Wanda had been waiting.  The oven was hot, the cleaver sharpened, and a hypodermic heavy duty sedative waiting.  Knocking someone out with an iron shovel was so old school.

Don't you just love Cloris Leachman?

 

Wednesday words took a slow turn May 2015 when a photo prompt (see yellow house with balcony) was the assignment.