Wednesday, March 19, 2008
New Beginning 467
HELL TEMPTED ME about every third weekend. So did the bottle. So did a big-breasted neighbor named Magdalene. That much, I admit to.
When it all came crashing down on me was the night my parrot said some things, and I listened, for the first time ever. He said, "You suck". He said, "Help me." He said, "mmmmm," like he had had a belly full.
Magdalene was the alien smell on my hands and genitals. She was the girl-next-door-to-the-brothel, like a discounted address. I didn't like Magdalene. In fact I hated her. In fact she hated me more than I hated her. And this is how we did it. It wasn't pretty and it was never sober, and this was just fine with us. I got the feeling she was heeling every Tom and Harry who had ever hurt her in her past, every time she spurred me on in our frenzied-hateful-love-making. "You", she would accuse me in tremolo. "Youuuuuuuuu." It was always a very long "U". Always longer than I could hold onto the guilt that she had built up inside me. "Youuuuuuuuuuu." She would breath and say it again and often. "Youuuuuuuuuuu!" She was like an alarm going off and a fire starting in a peach pit and a pair of big-nippled accompaniments that jellied on a sternum freckled densely. Her legs would kick me in. "Youuuuuuuuuuuuu."
Then the parrot starting saying it. Youuuuuuuu. Youuuuuuuuuuuuu. I felt no guilt inside me serving parrot en papillote for dinner that night. Youuuuuuuu Suck. I had a belly full.
Magdalene squawked about preparing an avian flambe because she hated the parrot more than she hated me. But I was no fancy chef.
I ate the parrot. That much, I admit to. I nibbled on Magdalene's big breasts, too, but just a little. She was a tough old bird. Would have made a better stew.
I'm going to raise sheep now. Give up on birds. Something tells me I'll be happier with a flock of ewes.
Opening: Scott Simpson.....Continuation: Mignon