As I pulled my ruffled Ikea blanket (compliments of a gift card provided by Ms. Gladys Potter herself), a subtle movement caught my eye. I tried to convince myself that this motion was trivial, perhaps a trick of the light, when an umbra suddenly emerged from behind one of my plants, wearing short shorts and breathing menacingly down my neck. I realized then that this was no phantom nor ghost, but simply Sir Pumpkin Longshanks, dancing into my room in the middle of the night in his short shorts to wake me up.
Haiku for the Wind’s Movement
An umbra of gas
My signature: Fart
Each night upon returning home from a long day’s work at the whoopie cushion factory, Melvin kicks of his shoes, changes into his pj jammers, and puffs on a doobie until the trivial but trying events of his day fade into nothing more than a distant umbra in a funny hat.
– Gladys Potter