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Why was there a line of six pink plastic buckets
outside the back door of the Coast Guard Cottage?
When I got closer, I could see that each of them was filled with coloured water,
an outrageous blue, reminiscent of Eastman colour and Pacific atoll’s.
Martin’s liquid watercolour perhaps?

I looked into each, expecting to see goldfish, or some other denizen of the deep,
Their was nothing swimming about in any of them, but in the last bucket,
I could see a coin lying on the bottom. Unable to resist,
I pulled up my sleeve and reached into the blue water.
No sooner had I pulled my arm out, cuff dripping,
than I was grabbed from behind and pushed up against the wall of the cottage.
Before I could utter a word of protest, I heard someone shout:
“He’s taken the King’s shilling”.

The Broken Diary  Ian Miller ©2012

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