It’s been raining here for five days now. 

I was eating a biscuit and someone said, your dogs want to go outside and like an idiot I took them out, only they didn’t want to go out in the rain, they wanted my biscuit. 

When I came back inside, I found dog shit on one of my flip flops, so I felt like doing something antisocial.  What could I do, I wondered?

I decided to wash the shit off in the bathroom sink. I imagined telling overnight visitors.

I was at a disadvantage to most people because I didn’t have hot water or very good pressure in the pipes.  Also, I wanted to use my low-quality Mexican toilet paper to clean the shit.  These were hurdles that gave me comfort.

My hopes grew. 

Some of the pieces of shit stuck to the sides of the sink.  I had to coax them down the drain. The toilet paper turned to spider web. It was then that I realized ever time I’d brush my teeth I’d think about cleaning the shit in the sink. I’d see the shit even though it wasn’t there.

So I stopped and began to madly scrub my hands with soap and at that moment, I felt like Lady Macbeth. 

What had I done to Duncan?

I’m in bed now reading Macbeth and it comes to my mind that Shakespeare stole most of his stories, but what gave him street cred was his voice.

His voice came from someplace hidden inside, an echo faintly heard, but with good timing upon the boards.

Sad-eyed dogs, shit on my flip flop, the voice of Shakespeare, where will it all end?

On a rough path perchance, nearby the stony wall.  Forsooth, see with thine eyes. 


4 thoughts on “Voice

  1. It’s slippery. Shit, that is, when stepped on in-full on the sidewalk in the shade. Dropped by a medium sized Labradoodle, it’s like ice on the stoop. That “oh, shit” flutter behind your navel. If you’re lucky you hit rough cement and catch yourself. If you’re lucky. And then the rest of the walk, dragging your shoe through tuffs of grass. Give it a twist in the sand collected around a street drain. That pair becomes your leave-them-on-the-back-porch shoes for at least a month, because, who wants to touch dog shit? Even the dogs dance their landmine cha-cha.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. This one brings to mind some of the best lyrics ever written,
    “I blew out my flip flop
    Stepped on a pop top
    Cut my heel, had to cruise on back home
    But there’s booze in the blender
    And soon it will render
    That frozen concoction that helps me hang on”

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I think the line these were hurdles that gave me comfort can pretty well wrap up some of the shit storms we all seem to endure these days Duker !!!

    Liked by 1 person

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