Talking to a Cock
I guess I was a little drunk. I was definitely over stimulated. The boardwalk carnival at night was an intoxicating menagerie of sound and light, of beautiful bodies still in their skimpy beach-wear, smelling of sweat and suntan lotion, of sweet and salty junk food, deep-fried, slathered in cheese. I wandered like a leaf on the breeze, my bare feet barely touching the wood.
The hawkers, luring people into sideshow attractions, were on fire tonight. Business was booming at the Snake Boy house; patrons screamed in anguished pleasure. The Winged Pigs, The Dragon Lady and Six Jesters Conjoined had long, eager lines waiting. But the one which caught my eye was the only booth whose crier didn’t look like an ancient cigar-chomping sticky-pocketed circus clown with mirrored shoes. SHE was a sultry middle-aged woman with curves and lumps and hair and eyes that melted my…bones. It’s probably why I didn’t read the sign on the booth properly – or even care. I just handed her my money and walked in.
There on the podium, in the center of a dark room with red satin curtains, stood a raging red COCK!
NO…I mean, it was a red rooster with bright flaming plumage. The other people in the room sat on benches around the bird, enthralled. I stood for a long moment, puzzled and awkward…until the cock looked over at me and said, “Take a seat there, Sparky, I’m just getting started,” in a voice that sounded remarkably like Noam Chomsky.
You know…I may have misheard the writing prompt today…What? OH!!! “Talking to a Cop”…Yeah, I don’t talk to cops.
***The image is “Cockeyed,” a Body-Oddy for our next book, “Body-Oddies.” The story was recently published on page 58 of our latest book, “A Short Burst”…which you can find at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks), or follow the links above to our site, which will bring you to our Etsy shop anyway. -Marsha
