The Elephant Keeper's Face
Oh pretty! In the
lanes, Little Granddaughter sing-songs delight; plucks the white bells from
their stems: why would anyone want to pick the stems? She peers avidly inside
at the green petal stripes, the stamen's yellow flame. With these treasures she
can buy several elephants.
(That plain line of stem? A technicality.)
At home, the elephant food must be mixed by hand. There
are other things to do: sweep up, chop root veg, fill up the washing machine,
reflect on life. But the elephants are hungry, Little Granddaughter says. Four
bowls of acorns should suffice.
Nam-ma look!
Partially hypnotised by repetitive acorn pouring, Nam-ma
looks up. Little Granddaughter presses the clear bottle to her face, distorts
the familiar grin. Nam-ma bounces with surprised laughing.
Oh, funny! At the
table they sit, two warped chortlers.
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