Poodles and poppycock, opined the wet nurse as she stepped onto the coals, dark rivulets of warm milk staining her blouse. Her feet blistered and swelled, swelled and blistered. Tell me something nice, she whispered, to no one. Write it in flames and swallow it whole. And the owls moaned and the turtle doves screeched and the tide sucked the life out of it all and then spit it back up onto the beach.
***
Take my vulva, she offered shyly. Paint it grey and buy it some boots to protect it when things get slushy. Put it in a black frame behind glass and hang it on your wall with the others. Slap it when it gets out of line. (It gets out of line sometimes.) I'll be back for it in the morning.
***
Hey fucker, croaked the raven. I was only messing around. Get up off of the goddamn floor.
***
She looped the telephone cord like a Chinese finger trap around her index finger, receiver wedged between her right shoulder and ear, and wondered what to say. Do I dare? she wondered, like J. Alfred. Do I dare? She removed her finger from the trap and placed the receiver gently into its cradle. Tell me something nice, she whispered to the dust motes dancing in the sun.
***
It is important to be wary, she thought wearily. Keep that KEEP OUT sign up, bullet-riddled and rusty. It'll hold for a while yet. Sure, if they really want to, they can just step around that post, step over that chain, walk forward into the black. They won't, though. Probably. Keep a loaded shotgun in your brain just in case. And don't say a goddamn word.
