Power Lines - Kevan Smith

‘No, no that’s not how it works’ flustered Polamo Nopendero, his cheeks reddening and jowls wobbling. ‘I said it is MY decision who gets to eat the cupcakes first.’ His chubby fist with sausage fingers slammed onto the tea table making all the cups, plates, and saucers bounce in unison, like mad Irish dancer in an Irish jog.

‘But Polly,’ said his stork-like partner ‘the cup cakes are for everyone, it doesn’t matter who gives them out.’

‘But I wanted the one with the big cherry.’ He flopped down and sulked, dribbling down his three chins.

‘Darling Polly’ she chirped’ ‘We all know you are the Mayor of Hillside Inner and we love the way you head up the Summer Festival Parade. We know you are important and the power line to our wonderful corrupt government through the HIV Council. The way you strut out in front of the HIV Committee Brass Band is a joy to behold. That reminds me, I must re-sew those buttons on your gold lame vest. They looked like they were straining a little the last time you paraded. So, my darling Polly, sit down and have another cupcake. Look, that one has a half strawberry and choccie buttons on top.’ She cooed as she patted his arms.

‘OK, my dear, if you say so. As long as everyone knows I’m important, that’s what matters.’

He shoved the whole cupcake in, barely removing its wrapper.