Sharp And Shiny Until

It's good that Terence is silent, thinks Gaius. I'll get on with composing my poem.

The countryside whizzes by. Red dirt mainly.

Any more apple? asks Sweezus.

I suppose so, says Gaius.

He halves the second half of the apple.

Hands a quarter to Sweezus.

Thanks, says Sweezus. This'll keep me awake.

Gaius continues composing his poem.

Olim, meaning once. That's a good start.

Olim sub humus nunc sub aqua

That your poem? asks Sweezus, taking his eyes off the road.

Indeed, says Gaius. I'm quite happy with the opening line, it shows perfect balance.

That's cool, says Sweezus. The crystal's all about balance. 

I hadn't thought of that, says Gaius. Is it too subtle?

Shit no, says Sweezus. Leave it how it is.

I shall, says Gaius. 

A long silence ensues.

The red landscape continues.

Stuck for a good rhyme for aqua? asks Sweezus.

Not at all, says Gaius. Roman poetry does not need to rhyme.

Yeah? says Sweezus. So how do you know when it's poetry?

The iambs, trochees and spondees, says Gaius. The poetic idea. The succinctness. 

Yeah right, says Sweezus. Hey. Would anyone mind if I ate half the onion?

Not I, says Gaius. I'll have the other half. That is if Roo-kai doesn't want it.

I don't want it, says Roo-kai.

Gaius doesn't ask Terence, who would not want it but is unable to say.

He halves the onion.

The camper van fills with the rich smell of onion.

Followed by sounds of munching.

Gaius keeps working.

Acutus, nitidus, puncta tres

Crystallum fulgit.....

He stops scratching.

Run out of syllables? asks Sweezus.

Not necessarily, says Gaius.

Sweezus gives up trying to help.

He can't see too well anyway, his eyes are watering because of the onion.

Dum, says Gaius to himself.

Huh? says Sweezus.

Where to put it, says Gaius. At the end of the line or the start of the next one.

So it's Latin, says Sweezus.

Meaning until, says Gaius. See where I'm going?

No he doesn't.

Sweezus swerves and skids off the road, narrowly missing a tree.