Roses are red
Violet are red
Trees are red
Bushes are red
Shit my garden
Is on fire!
That’s the last attempt at writing poetry for me. Reading it I tossed it onto the empty jet seat next to me.
“Something wrong?” My best friend and fellow agent asked in an inattentive tone, not even bothering to look up. My misconception about going to India was long gone and all that remained was numb indignation. The Captain of our secrety secret squad and also our boss, Mr. Bossy McBoss-Pants, lied to Wednesday and I about going to India. So for half of the plane ride here, in my ecstatic mindset, I thought this jet was being driven to the Far East. Ringing him up on the tellyphone I then proceeded to yell at him in German.
“No,” I sighed and gazed out the window in an apathetic manner.
“I know you’re still crossed about not going to India but look on the bright side-Scones!” The brunette threw her arms up and smiled.
“Yeah, uh-huh, yep.”
“Don’t ruin this for me, do you understand? Alright?” Wednesday warned me in a threatening tone and pointed a finger at me. I eyed her midnight blue nail polish and nodded solemnly.
“Come on cheer up,” she tossed a peanut at my head.
“It isn’t every day we get to visit the U.K.”
“It isn’t everyday you get to visit India and apparently it isn’t today-“a sour look came over Wednesday- “and besides we’re here on business remember?”
“And? That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves,” she pointed out garishly.
“I’ve seen enough of British people,” I breathed, starting to get a bit irritated.
“God don’t be so cynical.” I dropped the subject and didn’t speak until we landed ten minutes later. The company’s private jet had to have it own private landing port, right? Walking down the long ramp, the sun in my eyes and the wind in my face, my three suitcases trailed behind me and my backpack hung on my shoulders. I took a deep breath of British air and asked before the question could escape my lips and I could bite my tongue,
“And how long will we be stationed here?”
“For as long as necessary, Agent Black.” The flight attendant answered.
“Jim dandy,” I muttered in morose monotone.
“Wednesday, Dahlia, my darlings!” An all too familiar voice echoed through the air port. Swiftly looking to the side and squinting in the harsh evening glare, I caught side of Angus Gromov-a buddy of Mr. Bossy McBoss-Pants and also a big-rich billionaire from big-rich Dallas. Yippy-kai-ai.
He’s the one who supplies the jets…and burgers-Angus Beef and Co.
“How many times do I have to flush to get rid of you?” I asked and hitched my backpack farther up my shoulder.
“Bad penny is my middle name,” Angus said smiling broadly. I couldn’t help but smile back. He approached us and hugged each one us, and kissing us on the forehead. He was a young guy of thirty-two with shaggy blond hair tied back in a ponytail and half-rimmed glasses.
He was taller than most; standing at 6’6 he usually looked down at others. With his arms around me he asked,
“I haven’t seen you since mid October in Tokyo. I’m glad you both made it out okay.”
