Kallisto Sisters

The Kallisto sisters, Oreias and Erinyes, sleep escarped under a blanket of sparkly bright stars. When the sky hangs bellied against the treetops the man in the hat looks to the sisters for comfort and ease, hat doffed, eyes pressed tight into the back of his head, tongue lolling in the prune of his mouth, he stands beneath the marrow-yellow moon. Erinyes and Oreias suckle the strays that wander the sideways. Drunk on whey bitters the wee ones dance larking along the curbside, sidestepping the pisspot sod clapping the horn of his ass. Were he a wagering man the man in the hat would bet a ducat on the littlest waif cunt to suckle a dimes’ worth of treacle sweet maidenly whey. Maw awful suckling sends a shiver up me spiny spine. In the off time the sisters mend socks, tatting heels slicker than an otter’s belly. The man in the hat stepped out into the sideways, his eyes on the poorhouse poor lining up in front of the soup kitchen across the street, the Mercury Fish truck staggering him sideways like a cardboard mannequin. ‘…that’ll be enough of that nonsense…’ he said, ‘…bastards sell crates of the off fish for a Queen’s ransom…’. With that he stepped out into the sideways and went about his business, the noontime sun spilling across the rooftops like yellow slag.