Short stories


I drop the title of this story on the back of a snail. Go home give up says the poet Kowwowski. Come on I say I feel lucky. Kowwowski throws down the money. I lose the Milton epithet. Kowwowski says Luck has abandoned you today. I say Come now see those pigeons in the sky. I lose the Aristotelian beginning middle and end. I lose blisters warts boils cysts carbuncles abscesses hemorrhaging scabs sores crabs lice worms of insights and knowledge. I lose rude words grinding poverty brutal gestures sexual depravity intense human interest unhappy marriages sordid background an atmosphere of acute misery.  I told you so says Kowwowski with a sloppy smirk with a grinding grin with a cacophonous chuckle I know I know I say But surely if I put money on that car beating that truck so far I’ll win it all back.  Go home says Kowwowski My poem is complete I will not suffer defeat I say Let us play cards Poker says Kowwowski. I lose the quintessential existential anti-hero to Queens. Into the pot I toss the subplot subtext the submarine. That’s paltry says Kowwowski Wait I say I have a prostitute down on her luck in the muck without luck Hell no says Kowwowski I’d rather have the commas Take them I say and let’s have a drink and then we’ll box for everything else the whole shebang. We wrap towels around our fists and sheathe the towels with plastic bags. Kowwowski says Let’s get it on. I b-r-r-ring the bell. Kowwowski throws jab jab jab and I lose the chase the race the slaying of the dragon the gold the mold the deflowering of the damsel the key to the enigma the delight at the dénouement.  I throw uppercut uppercut uppercut. Kowwowski clocks my right eye. There’s goes my dignity my territory my lucidity. I bop the nose. Kowwowski brings blood to the bottom lip. There goes the cosmic soup the dream residual the Vicoan loop.  I surrender my Quotation Marks. Kowwowski gets me on the ropes and pounds my pate bats my bollocks forays my face and I lose my grammar and Kowwowski while erranding the ears nullifying the nose chiseling the chin says Boy your Grammar sucks.

Paul Kavanagh

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