Archives for July 2012

The Shapes of Stories – Kurt Vonnegut

Seriously…. Vonnegut should be cannonised…




The Tale of Sitting Duck

the black gorgerThe sitting duck
frozen with fear
couldn’t paddle, couldn’t fly,
frozen knowing
that below the beast was coming
from below.

And so it did,
rapacious gaping maw,
black gorger,
wide open
all teeth
snapping and gulping and swallowing
’till all there was left
in the universe of the duck
hemmed in by teeth closing
was the rooting slathering tongue
of the beast.

Sitting duck
it’s mouth gaping in fear
as it fell into the cavernous jaws
of the maw
suddenly, inexplicably, lunged
at the great beast’s tongue,
beaked it,
then, realizing,
beaked it harder,
beaked it with all it’s might
and held on for dear life.

The great beast gasped,
then gabbered,
then stuttered, then coughed,
but still Sitting Duck wouldn’t let off.
It wheezed, sneezed,
spat and ululated,
it buzzed, it teethed,
it raced to and fro,
but still sitting duck wouldn’t let go.

The beast flabbered and gasted
couldn’t chew, swallow or catch,
’cause on it’s tongue
was Sitting Duck,
totally focused,
still latched.

For hours, then days, then weeks
duck wouldn’t release,
and the beast,
swimming in circles,
writhered and railed,
then paled,
and fell weak.

Then Sitting Duck,
now mighty,
from feeding on the great beast’s tongue,
flexed it’s wings,
and heaved with it’s beak,
and beat and beat
as hard as it could
and harder and harder
and lifted the limp beast
by the tongue
into the air
higher and higher.
Then with a great gasp,
Sitting Duck spat
the beast from below
and it fell and it fell
far and farther
and went kerash and kersplatter
in a horrible glabble
of guts, and teeth and bones.

Sitting Duck,
now descended to the splattage carnage,
winging back down to the ground.
There it fluttered and flapped
and bippity-bopped,
and picked all the very best bones of the lot.
It stacked them in order
bottom to top,
tight, interlocked,
and built,
bone by bone,
a beautiful home,
from the bones of the beast from below.