A speck appeared past where the sand churns in the waves. Past where the whiskey-colored water turns denim.
On the waterfront, my quarter slid tight in the slot of the high-power, pole mount binoculars. The speck his ship—a speck on a speck on the Gulf of Mexico.
A crusty fisherman sailed me out to meet the ship. I paid him with jewelry: hoops, chains, rings and a fistful of gold on fire in the bright orange day, I couldn’t wait.
The captain, having made me promise to give him my sandals, threw down a rope-ladder and called come aboard. He was small, so high up. I climbed, boarded. There he was at last.
There he was at last. We tango-kissed, my hair swept the deck. I took his picture with my camera. Hair two eyes one nose mouth shoulders chest stomach bulge legs perfect prime beef.
Back home he moved in, so close I no longer recognized him in the photo, no more than when he was a speck on a speck in the Gulf. He had problems drank/gambled, they came/took away my car then scary men wanting a gambling debt for which I sold my furniture.
I had to find the source of all the troubles like the Gulf is fed by the muddy Mississippi that collects from a creek which flows from a spring. I stripped and inspected him magnifying glass from downstairs neighbor ~ eighty needs it to read. He thought it was funny but giant nose pores, ghastly moles flaky shin skin ground-in dirt on feet soles, wavery large furrow balls gross.
Electric shut off bill unpaid spoiled food, sinking proverbial vessel. I got the microscope from soft pudge thick glasses kid upstairs I knew he’d have one. The brat said no then yes for three cigarettes. I took scraps of his hair then nails skin mouth mucus sperm. He was made of bugs, squiggly spidery living micro-beasts. A fucking petri farm.
I watched from the widow’s walk roof, for the next ship. When it sailed back out of port, past whiskey to denim, I was on it.
Carly Berg
About the author:
Carly Berg gets her three hots and a cot near Galveston, Texas. Her stories appear in PANK, Scissors and Spackle, The Molotov Cocktail, and elsewhere. She does not own a magnifying glass.
