Saturday, January 31, 2009

os Peixes estão Mordend

‘…die Fische beißen…’ vouched a man with tophus gout. ‘…i pesci stanno mordendo…’ shouted a man wearing a vouchsafe cap. ‘…de vissen bijten…’ echoed a third. ‘…os peixes estão mordend…’ insisted a woman in a fur coat yipping like a coyote. Out from behind a fichus trees, his scalp crawly with lice, the littlest dogman shouted ‘…los pescados están mordiendo…’. The Troon brothers of South Ayrshire and the Gravesend brothers of Kent were in cahoots with the Romford sisters of Havering and the High Wycombe sisters of Buckinghamshire. All eight, for there were two brothers and two sisters per pair, were in cahoots with Monsignor Fontenay-sous-Bois who was in cahoots with Thurrock Gray.

Lela’s great-great grandmamma deloused her great-great granddad on Saturdays and Tuesday evenings. First she applied a scalding hot compress to his head, folding it under his chin and cinching the knot taut with her teeth. Next she poured boiling hot oil over the compress, her great-great granddad clapping his hands over his ears, the floor briny with oil and drown lice. Next she unwrapped her great-great granddad’s head, the compress unraveling like a thrown stitch, and said ‘…fetch me a cup of gin, and be quick about it…’.

Bear with me please, this will all soon come to an end. The Echt twins of Limburg and the Emmerich triplets of Nordrhein-Westfalen, equaling five, two Echt and three Emmerich, first met the day after the Troon brothers of South Ayrshire and the Gravesend brothers of Kent met with the Romford sisters of Havering and the High Wycombe sisters of Buckinghamshire to hatch a scheme against Monsignor Fontenay-sous-Bois, who was in cahoots with Thurrock Gray who made book on Saturdays and Tuesdays afternoons in the parking lot behind the Church of the Perpetual Sinner. The twins and the triplets met scavenging for scraps of linoleum and old milk crates behind the Waymart, the twins, Bessie and Ollie, having better luck than the triplets, Ansell and Hockley, who had only managed to scavenged a snail-size piece of linoleum and a milk crate with one side missing.

Lela’s great-great grandmamma deloused her great-great granddad on Saturdays and Tuesday evenings, leaving Wednesdays and every other Sunday for canning peaches and attending to her corns, which grew in abundance on her toes and back. Having never heard of anyone having corns on their back, Lela figured her great-great grandmamma was telling a fib, when all she really wanted was some peace and quiet from the hubbub of familial life.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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