A fair to middling day, a day so middle it seems squeezed between two others. The stink of corkwood and skinner’s oil, rabbits and hens, curio stretched out on tack-boards to dry. The harridan’s great-grandfather trapped the woods surrounding the aqueduct (across from the Sears) which in 1875 was nothing more than spoil and fen. (Authors note: should you be expecting a story, a beginning, middle and an end, you’re in the wrong place; the public library is a much better place to find such things).
Doktor Faustus removed his eyeglasses, placed his three-cornered foolscap on the tabletop and said ‘fucking miscreants, too much bloody scrimshaw for my liking!’ The shamble leg man remembered reading Goethe’s Faust in lower-school, a dog barking Figaro in the ragweed outside the schoolroom window, the teacher’s pet ogling the teacher’s apple, the teacher admonishing the class for underlining the text in crabapple red pencil.
Before he knew the man in the hat the shamble leg man knew the teacher’s pet, a fat girl with walnut-grinder’s teeth and lice-brittle hair. She gave blow-jobs for free behind the library, her teeth leaving rake-marks on the underside of wee boy’s cocks. She reminded him of his great-grandfather and the hunker of his shoulders when he fell cattle with the sledge and the smell of wood-rot and armpit sweat.
‘Most people are cowards, shameless cowards’ thought the shamble leg man, ’selfish children with selfish wants, a shellfishery of selfish wants and desires’. He remembered finding a cockleshell washed up onto the tidal-bank, prickles and pins stuccoing the shell. His great-grandfather told him it was a male cockleshell, and rolling it over with the toecap of his mucking-boot revealed a tiny spike curled up under the belly, a wee larval cock is what he called it, a wee fucking cockleshell cock.
Doktor Faustus removed his eyeglasses, placed his three-cornered foolscap on the tabletop and said ‘fucking miscreants, too much bloody scrimshaw for my liking!’ The shamble leg man remembered reading Goethe’s Faust in lower-school, a dog barking Figaro in the ragweed outside the schoolroom window, the teacher’s pet ogling the teacher’s apple, the teacher admonishing the class for underlining the text in crabapple red pencil.
Before he knew the man in the hat the shamble leg man knew the teacher’s pet, a fat girl with walnut-grinder’s teeth and lice-brittle hair. She gave blow-jobs for free behind the library, her teeth leaving rake-marks on the underside of wee boy’s cocks. She reminded him of his great-grandfather and the hunker of his shoulders when he fell cattle with the sledge and the smell of wood-rot and armpit sweat.
‘Most people are cowards, shameless cowards’ thought the shamble leg man, ’selfish children with selfish wants, a shellfishery of selfish wants and desires’. He remembered finding a cockleshell washed up onto the tidal-bank, prickles and pins stuccoing the shell. His great-grandfather told him it was a male cockleshell, and rolling it over with the toecap of his mucking-boot revealed a tiny spike curled up under the belly, a wee larval cock is what he called it, a wee fucking cockleshell cock.
2 comments:
a dog barking Figaro in the ragweed outside
a shellfishery of selfish wants
ooh.
I got nabbed tossing back-issues of National Geographic out the second-floor window, grade 10.
Might've hit a wee doggy barking Figaro in the ragweedy head.
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