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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Along the baseboard in a small kitchen there is a tiny hole, the perfect size to go unnoticed, perfect for a secret hideaway. Little twin girls imprisoned at the table not allowed to leave unless those cold olive green peas are completely gone! Canned peas, that had a bit of the flavor of the tin can infused into them, pushed around the plate in a marble shoot. When is she going to leave the kitchen, quit watching, stop repeating, "eat every one!" Salty tears dropping on the plate, incapable of adding any flavor as an hour passes and little heads are laying on the table beside the plate with those cursed tiny vegetables staring back with their small green eyes. She has to take a trip to the toilet, this must be timed just right...half the peas leave the plates and are scooted into the tiny hole in the wall. She returns, unaware of the subterfuge. Admonishment causes more tears and little voices pleading, "they're almost gone". "Not good enough, finish them or you stay here all night!" A guardian angel makes the phone ring and she leaves to answer it. Two little girl's plates quickly converge upon the tiny hole that gobbles up the last of those dreaded cold green peas. She returns and the ordeal is finally over, with her none the wiser, until a few weeks pass and she keeps trying to find the smelly odor coming from the kitchen. She follows her nose to the secret hideaway exposing the rotted peas. Infuriation welds up within and then out comes the razor strap and a painful dance ensues. © Connie Marcum Wong
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