Oxidation

Oxidation of the flame of love.

Oxidation of a metal skip.

The flame of love burning,

The metal skip rusting -

Isn't oxidation wonderful and diverse?

By Mum and Dad Dusty Bones

Ok people, back in high school (year 7) I had to write a poem about frost. Thankfully my Dad was close by, and he obligingly spurted out a masterpiece off the top of his head called 'ode to a frosty morning'. I transcribed his words and it gave me a good mark. Once again this evening, I am sitting sipping tea with my parents. Slumping in my seat, I felt frustrated that my two images today seemed to hold no common theme. On the right, the rusty skip - the fulfilment of today's challenge (entitled 'rust') - and on the left, my preferred photo of the day; the love of my life engulfed in the frosty mist of the vent pipe in the back garden. How on earth would I write something to justify the diptych, other than 'well I thought they looked good together and had to get some rust in so here it is'?. Just as they did on that school evening 20 years ago, Mum and Dad chimed in with a striking simile and then a river of poetic wonder spilled forth from their lips. I think they should blip. they'd be interesting.