‘My daddy was a dollar, I wrote it on a fence. My daddy was a dollar not worth a hundred cents.’

My father was a famed sea captain.

My mother was any old sack of potatoes, the ones that don’t get washed or peeled but rather wait til they sprout and get thrown out with the rest of the ship’s table scraps and bottle caps.

She left me her name and her lumpy stomach.

There is very little recorded on the early years of my father’s naval career

but I have read all there is on his eternal retirement, docking in the

gentle waters off the island where he’d chase the boys

with his metal hand from their safe prams into his booby traps. But of all the flies, he foamed til his dying day for the one that he could never catch.


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