Black sludge for water
Full of muck and that pond stink
The moon’s drenched in haze
Just after the rain
The woods are like pitch
And the going slow
The big boatswain’s fur
Coat he pulls tighter and thinks
On his numbered days
I still have back pains
From that cracker’s switch
Cause he liked hittin’ low
Five hours longer
And hearing the cargo clink
Seventy-five crates
All from a Miss Lane
She’s a fat old bitch
But she brews fine splo
Jet the old blind cur
Stomach up, mangy, and pink
Lies sleeping out of the way
Quiet like he’s slain
His nose gives a twitch
And I hear a crow
My eyes are blurred
Crusty and I need a drink
But my gold watch say
Just bear out the pain
—and then I see it
And when we reach land it’s all downhill from there
No sir no
That’s the finest popskull
I don’t believe you
Don’t call me liar
Charlie, get the gun!
BANG
Silence
| Copyright © 2020 by Blake Adamson Blake Adamson is an aspiring writer who has written for fanzine blogs and maintains fandom-related blogs on both Tumblr and Archive of Our Own. He currently lives in Jefferson City, Missouri, with his family while trying to complete a novel or novella-length story, a feat which he compares to passing kidney stones. |
This short story keeps revealing its narrative and its social provenance to the very end!
ReplyDeleteOne more excellent work of poetry. Each stanza contains a great image and each stanza builds itself up to a short story collection. I'd like to see this work as a work of fiction just because.
ReplyDeleteGreat job, great imagery, powerful ending.
ReplyDeleteFascinating rhyme scheme. A non-poet, I don't think I've seen this before.
ReplyDeleteBlake, do you have any more poems you might share with us?
ReplyDelete