Blog #24: Day of the Nymph (2015)

Blog #24:  Day of the Nymph  (2015)


—and she made love to me!

(…albeit, to onlookers, methinks,

our intercourse didst appear, no doubt,

innocuously conversational…

[HA!! Wouldst think I’d say ‘oral’!



—golden tresses, tinged with violet…

shining, blazing, luminous purple eyes…

softly yielding, bronzed flesh

o’er a form o’ sheer sublimity…

blah, blah, blah, blah—


‘Tis a warm, sunshiny day in May—

the first in a long while

in which I wouldst be at all adverse’d not

were I to be without my pants…

an’ with a song in mine heart

(I don’t think so…)

—with an itching in my spleen

I think… what if I were a duck?


(“Why a duck?!”

“Just shut up now!”)


Quack-quack-quack… quack-quack-quack…

quack-quack-quack… quack-quack…



—and it’s just really not at all doing it for me…

but I’d probably have the opportunity

to swim more often.



…and so there was a nymph—a sylph, a naiad, a dryad, an oread, a vixen, a moxie, a fiend!  (Just skip that last one…)  And a bemuse’d and blustering godling didst spy her—and love her from afar…!

            And then nearer!

And then again just slightly, shyly backing away………(!)

And so thought this besmittened godling… “What if I made this nymphly beauty, beauteous nymph… what if I were to make of her some other form?  Just changed her into…  something else?”

            (Shits & giggles?  I know not why!  Who might guess the wherefore of young godlings at play?)

And so then her transformed her into a duck!  And, oh, ne’er ere or ‘twilln’t to be was were willst ere a duck’d be to rival the pulchritudinous perfection o’ the one what was a nubile nymph… and thusly didst the godling e’en moreso love her still…!

But then she pecked at him—in the shin!—with her bluntly bludgeoning bill… and when the godling fell to the ground, clutching at his bruis’d and batter’d leg, she quacked raucously in his ear an’ she shat in his eye… oh, heinous, heinous, heinous, heinous nymph-duck-fiend-bitch.

And so he rung her goddamned (Ah-ha!) neck, plucked her clean, rotisserized the hell out of her (forsoothly!), and ate her.

And so now she’s dead—but a pile of bones and feathers and flippers and a bill… and though the godling thereafter regretted his ireful undoing o’ the supernally beauteous nymph, he knew… in the grand scheme of all things… she really had kind of brought it on herself…


“~and a partridge in a—


(Just nevermind.)




—and someday we’ll all be dead…

and we’ll wonder what all the fuss

had been about.



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  —Mishka Zakharin  © 2015

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