Robert’s (silent T) Lot

A Trial

Robert (silent T) could not make heads or tails.
     “You said once, not long before but sometime recent, that you were headed out to the barn, the big barn, the one with gold eaves and silver awnings.”
     “Platinum,” Robert (silent T) reiterates.
     “Platinum what?” It’s the judge.
     “Does it matter?” asks Robert (silent T).
     “No it doesn’t matter. Let me ask again.”
     . . .
     “Ask what again?”
     “The question I asked before.” The judge stares.
     “Yes, but which question you asked before. You’ve asked many questions.”
     “I have. Why don’t you recall them?”
     “I never said I don’t recall; I said I don’t know which one you are referring to.”
     “And why is it that you cannot recall which one I am referring to, Robert (silent T)?”
     “I didn’t say I couldn’t recall—”
     “Recall what?”
     “What are you asking?”
     “I’m asking the questions, Robert (silent T).”

An Arrest

Robert (silent T) had been picked up.
     “You’re under arrest, Sir Mister not-so-gentlemanly Robert (silent T).”
     “For what?” Robert (silent T) knew why.
     “You know why.”
     “No I don’t.”
     They cuffed Robert (silent T).
     “Would you like your rights?” The officer asked this morosely.
     “My last?”
     The officer stared.
     Robert (silent T) grimaced, said, “I want a beer.”
     “Rights served.”
     Robert (silent T) was shoved into the cruiser.

A Toke

Robert (silent T) was high that day.
     “Why?” asks Bethany (silent ANY).
     “No sense. None. I know.” Robert (silent T) exhales.
     “But why.”
     “Are you dumb?”
     “Are you a misogynist?”
     “Are you daft?”
     “Quit repeating yourself, Robert (silent T).”
     “Don’t call me dumb.”
     “Where are you going?”
     “I’m going to the barn.”

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For the Intermittent Writer


Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.

The Wink

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