Monday, February 20, 2017


The ancient swab sniffed the air, then spat at the corner of the stone-cold tavern.

“Aye, the cat gods be angry tonight.”

I leaned forward in trepidation. The ship! The waves! The foul winds a-blowing, frosting the heart and heads of those sheltered in the skeletal cove.

“There be no appeasin’ them bewhiskered bitches tonight.”

The Octavian-head found its way into my palm, my palm to the pitted cedars of the table. “Passage!” I cried to the gnarled mariners studying their cups o’ grog in shame. “Who’s the man can give me a passage oersea?”

The swab leaned in close, so close I smelt the socket where the man’s left eye once was.

“When the sky cats blow, we mices stay in our holes.”

And the leprous witch-crone croaked “meow” in the darkness …

(Stormkitty c. 2016)

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