Napowrimo, 24 April, 2022
Today we were asked to feast on similies - I'm not hungry anymore.
In Departures, they are everywhere.
Fixed with a level of precision only a nuclear scientist with ADHD could claim,
There, on the faces of the scouse bridal party princesses, about as pinked out as a flock of blushing flamingoes.
Resting below the noses of the perfectly hair-tongued twins,
Pointing heavenward, like so many alabaster Angel’s wing in a cemetery, both reminders of what once was.
Pumped, primed and pricked to perfection,
Motionless and cement ironed, they suck in attention like a black hole consumes matter.
All consuming, they are all that matters.
And there, on the front visage of the Lycra-spliced gym-bunny in her peppermint two- piece, glossy pert meringue ridges, tilted to match the wing tips of the plane she just boarded.
Upturned iced ramps from which minature sji jumpers leap on escaping plucked nostrils.
They appear facially branded, mustard gas victims, artex platypus beak freaks.
Petrified engorged leach appendages making them all look equally maimed
Kiss me quick, begged the hat:
Sorry, I have a plane to catch.