Pucker
by Kevin Lenaghan

“Well, that doesn’t look too bad!” John Fergus said, both hands resting proudly on his hips as he regarded his handiwork. 

The small, blue tent was sitting in a mostly upright position, three metal rods still lying unused on the grass next to it. He picked them up, regarded them suspiciously, then shrugged and threw them back down. “Sure, they always give you a few spare parts!” 

Just then the tent, already leaning slightly to one side, fell down flat. He stood staring for a moment, his heavily bearded mouth frowning, hands still on his hips.