PANTUN ABANG MENERPA

Pokok kapok si pokok kapur
Sayang kelapa air dijaja
Kita sibuk hendak ke dapur
Abang terpa mula nak manja

Buat gerobok cantum berpasak
Kerat balam selit menanggung
Kita sibuk hendak memasak
Abang diam meraba pungung

Goreng keropok goreng belanak
Sepat dipanggang dapurnya retak
Kita sibuk susukan anak
Abang datang terus memintak

Ikan terubuk rasanya lain
Lainlah parang bila dimasak
Kita sibuk mencuci kain
Abang datang sarong diselak

Orang duduk kainnya lusuh
Lipat ke kiri bunganya kecil
Kita sibuk duduk membasuh
Abang berdiri pacak memanggil

Tunggang kuda membawa cambuk
Pacu ke tengah langkahya panjang
Mula kita sehari sibuk
Sekarang mengah sama diranjang

Kasih Mentua

"Jalan elok2 balik tu. Jangan lak singgah tempat bukan2. Jangan biarkan budak tu kena angin malam, kang sakit," teriak kepala ibu mentuanya.  Mata Mak Biah terang menyuluh halaman pokok tempat mentuanya diam di tengah2 Hutan Puaka. 

Bapa mentuanya menawarkan kepala Mak Biah untuk dijadikan penyuluh tapi ditolak dengan lembut oleh Misnah. Bulan mengambang seakan bergayut di pucuk pokok cukup untuk menyinari denai ke pondoknya di seberang Hutan Puaka. Lagi pun, Misnah tahu yang Pak Lah amat mengasihi isterinya dan akan merinduinya sekiranya ditinggalkan.

Teman sebangku

Pictorial writing prompts.

Your old rattle trap sputtered, coughed and died on the hottest day of the year in the middle of nowhere. It was another ten miles to the nearest town and any kind of help.

You pulled out your phone. Figures. Following Waze's misdirections since you left the asshole this morning has drained its juices to the last 12 per cent. No signal either, the old trees scratching the sky that lined the cracked and bumpy blacktop blocked any and all signals from the nearest cell towers.
You groaned, and smacked your head against the cheap vinyl cover of your steering wheel again and again. The day has been nothing but the best examples of how Murphy's Law leisurely trips you and kicks you in the teeth while you're sprawled on the ground. 

You rolled up the window, blocking out the desultory hot breeze. You stuff your dying phone, the water bottle with two or three sips of warm, metallic tasting water from the park water cooler you passed by this morning, and wallet into your knapsack. The car door opened with a protesting whine and you slammed it shut, muttering imprecations under your breath. You shoulder the knapsack and walked in the direction you were heading, not bothering to lock your dead and unlamented rust bucket.

An hour had passed, sweat left unsightly patches on your clothes. The last gulp from the water bottle barely made a dent in the dry cotton lining your mouth and throat. Your legs, long accustomed to your sedentary gamer lifestyle, protested against the abuse of hauling your bulk for the past 2 miles, threatening cramps on 4 separate locations. Thankfully your battered Nikes were well broken in and comfortable, though your slouchy socks have begun to feel like a cum rag after a long, dry weekend.

You saw the sign for a bus stop ahead and your heart leapt with joy. You hitch up your knapsack more securely and trudged on. There was a slight dip in the road ahead.

Then you saw the bench that served as the bus stop and the fellow passenger waiting. Your feet refused to take another step. Was it the eerie smile on the perfectly caked makeup unaffected by the sweltering heat? The black balloons clutched in his hand?

The free hand not holding the balloons patted the bench as if saying "Come take a seat."

On its own volition, your tired feet began to move.