Hardcore Edge

Hard to the core, and surface polished to a deep rich brown, years of wear and no tear treading on my tongue and groove –
although that odd dog, the weird one with long blond curly locks did sit and gnaw one of my legs – right number he did, chewed off veneer and polish and left me with permanent scars –
his teeth forever embedded in my flesh –
and ah, the look of stern disapproval from the mother when it was noticed.

But there are no ring marks from countless sweating steins or bottles,
the odd smudge from a hastily sweater sleeve wiped spill, honey sweet milky tea, and a few odd crumbs lodged in the split for the leaf wood, but they never stay there long –
a rough tongue will fish them out.

You don’t believe in table cloth coverings – preferring to see me age, wearing bald spots and shaving nicks from knife tips, but I’m tougher than this.

But it’s that one particular edge –
the edge where she sits and click click clicks as her fingers tap, when her nails are too long she swears at the endless number of mistakes she makes as she half bakes stories and slaps together meals on wheels on her lap top. I guess I could call it finger food tid-bits, if I could be bothered.

But it’s the edge that really matters.

Curved like a swollen fat bottomed lip I pout out and she plants her butt and slips, if the material is thin enough and I’m feeling finely tuned with the scent of lemons. And she slouches and shuffles and readjusts her ass and thoughts and hits the keys again, while I stroke her bottom, a bit heavier on the left side cheek, so soon enough, sometimes within minutes, she fidgets and shifts as her legs start the tingle slide from hip, along thigh, down past the rounded calf to end at her toes –

yeah, honey, this is the ticket – so hard and finely crafted am I – I can bring tears to your eyes –

The choice of pleasure and pain a fine line which I love crossing –
it’s within my nature to hard core craft as you sit and draft stories and words – stirring it up in the kitchen, where I sat for so many years, listening in to the silly stories and back and forth taunts and teasing, bearing the weight of squirming and intense stares, with toes clenching in death grips on rungs, the smell of fear staining dinner, wrung out of your skin as it stuck to my back – there’s no hiding from all of these trips –
and in a flash, I know your heart –
for I gave mine long ago –
to be tooled and carved and housed,
maple wood table and chairs –
a set of 4 –

And even if I can’t speak your language, I serve the purpose of reminder –

You’d take the axe and sharpen the blade to a shining silver fine line, swinging it hard and fast, splitting me into pieces,
the desire to throw me on the bonfire blaze breathing in your soul –
reduced to ashes

These are the imprints ingrained in my smooth and polished surface –
it’s this edge, where you sit, that really matters.

©2017 Scribbler’s Dipstick

mlmm prompt: tale weaver #129: around the house


9 thoughts on “Hardcore Edge

  1. Every item seems to have a use by date doesn’t it…I just this week took an old bow-backed chair to a furnisher renovation guy to be repaired as the bottom had fallen out of it….it had come from my grandmother’s and I thought it needed to be restored so I’m keen to see how it turns out…

    Liked by 1 person

    • yes, a use by date – that’s a great turn of phrase – and bottom falling out – ahahahaha – that’s brilliant, if not a bit wobbly and dangerous – but if it can be salvaged and restored, then it’s not so bad. Personally, I’d much rather chop and burn this damn set, it can never be altered, smudged and cleared of the energies and memories, although I admit, it’s not the tree’s fault.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes there are some items that would benefit from a good firing wouldn’t they…but some like this old chair I’m a bit sentimental over..apparently it would have been one of maybe six chairs but I only remember this one that I have….I could have said the arse was out of it but when talking to a lady I try and sound polite..

        Liked by 1 person

      • LOL – well, damn, that’s another wonderful expression, the “arse is out of it” – roflmao – and for a “lady” in the house? Where???

        Sentimental is good, when there is no mental involved, and if it brings you wonderful memories, then all’s well – and hopefully it will end well. As for the missing chairs? Makes one wonder on a bit – I often wonder what happened to some of the items that were cleared from my grandparents’ houses – I know most of the things were sent on to different charities, but then, what new stories will come to pass? All that can be said, – hopefully these items served them well.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Not the fly on the wall, but the table in the kitchen, that tells all; weathered and worn by storms of emotions, polishings, fits of food and bits of imagination. Tingling asses and silly stories, indeed!
    There are pieces of furniture, some now long gone, I have cherished.
    Our chairs are all recycled from the “big pick” up days, so new stories told by new asses on smoothed out seat.
    Our futon frame/bedframe lived with a friend before coming to us.
    Our kitchen table/desk/layout space (stuff not me) has suffered from my fits of imagination for many years now. No pouty lip, no attitude, less character, perhaps. Grungy, dingy, and wobbles to one side unless you smack the leg.
    And yes, there are some things that should be mended, saved, and cherished like the memories they engender. Others do deserve the ax and fire for there is little to cherish in the memories.
    I feel like I have met your table. It is as unique, animated, imaginative, as you.
    Thanks for playing along!

    Liked by 1 person

    • LOL@Our kitchen table/desk/layout space (stuff not me) – well, hmm … some days I find myself sprawled across the keyboard, flopping in a dead zone head space, – oh the tales this damn table could tell!
      Great comment by the way – very poetic in itself – a post in itself 🙂
      Furniture is interesting – as are other household objects, with histories (almost wrote hostileries???) fashioned, not only from the crafting but to the end products, where they end up and the lives they secretly live. Okay, that sounds whacked, slightly, but omg – look at the time, playing with words more or less all day, – I’ve sadly realized they are the only thing to fill the ache and loneliness. Bah!
      This table – ugh. For the fires I say, with most of the little furnishings I have, which are little – needs must light packing and all – but maybe one day I will be able to troll markets and aisles and find things that are fashionably exciting to me. 😉
      As for your table/desk? Sounds intriguing just the way you’ve written about it. 🙂
      thanks for the interesting prompt – just what the day ordered. 🙂


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