'Wood' by Jonathan Pinnock

I arrived home to find a six foot high wooden statue of myself on the front lawn.

‘I couldn’t think of what else to get you for your birthday,’ she said. I sympathised. I always have the same problem with her.

‘It’s certainly lifelike,’ I said.

‘He works from photographs. I took them while you were asleep.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Right.’

We stood for a while, trying to avoid staring.

‘Perhaps you were dreaming of something?’ she said, breaking the awkward silence. ‘Something, you know…’

‘Maybe.’ I shook my head. ‘No, it’s going to have to go. What about the neighbours?’

She gave a sad smile. ‘I guess you’re right. Hold on.’ She disappeared back into the house and returned with a saw. It didn’t take her long to remove the offending item. ‘Do you want to sand down the stump?’ she said when she’d finished.

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Fair enough.’ She paused for a moment. ‘So what are we going to do with this bit?’ she said, holding it up.

We’ve ended up using it as a light pull for the downstairs bathroom. So far, none of our guests has made any comment, but I guess it’s only a matter of time.


(previously published in Cease, Cows)