Excerpt for Shipwrecks in the Harbor by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Shipwrecks in the Harbor

(or, The Ugliest man You’ve Ever Kissed)







Frank Trautman

A votre santé, © 2017



















For, Pook.

Before you I was a quivering sunken mess.

That is to say, a real nervous wreck.

Thanks for shutting that shit down.

Love always, FJT


Be it ever so jumbled, there’s no place like…

Youth has been spilled over wobbly barroom tables

amber rivulets dripped into socks

Youth has been scratched out on cheap motel pads

with fuzzy soft core on motel TVs

And now an old man bounces back down South.



Ambrose Quibodeaux Confronts Destiny

Ambrose Quibodeaux was sipping Old Crow and chicory from a mason jar and alternately toying with an old police service revolver when he first met Ambassador Alacazar, the elite head of the Board of Science and Ontology from the Planet Mungo.

Earlier Ambrose Quibodeaux had been fingering an old song on an even older accordion and debating on either playing “You Are My Sunshine” or the “Mardi Gras Mambo” as carnival season had descended upon St. Martins parish once again.

However, he had come to the notion that the old groanbox had seen its last fais-do-do probably years past, and wouldn’t play anyhow.

Ambrose Quibodeaux instead began loading and unloading the revolver as he debated the merits of either loading all six chambers of the weapon or just one and spinning the barrel, before placing the rusty old thing to his fevered temple and pulling the trigger.

However, refilling the glass with a sigh, he came to the notion that damned thing probably wouldn’t fire anyhow.

So he set it next to accordion.

That was when, upon looking up, Ambrose discovered Ambassador Alacazar across the table from him, peering quietly over the edge.

No, Ambrose was far from surprised by his visitor’s campy, elongated, green head, silver jumpsuit, and colorful spangles.

This was because the mixture of bourbon and boredom had counteracted the shock that might have naturally have arisen in Ambrose.

In its place, he quickly decided the little creature was an early entrant for the Krewe des Martiens de Saint-Martin Parade.

Meanwhile, the Ambassador reached for his universal translator, which was located on a big, glittering box on his chest.

The Ambassador turned the translator dial from Mungan (his own dialect), to Earth/Acadian.

As Ambrose raised his jar in the air, laughing “Bonsoir mon ami!,” the Ambassador opened a lipless gray slit in the center of its face to speak:

“How're y’all doren’, cher?”



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Hello! Welcome to Frank’s House of Platonic Bliss, we been loved, but not in that way since 1992. Please listen carefully the menu options have changed or to speak directly with an operator please stay on the line…To be told you haven’t gained weight please press one, to schedule a trip to or from the airport or to request pet sitting please press two. To discuss your outfit for tomorrows big date, press three…

Please be patient all of our operators are listlessly surfing for porn.

Click.

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All you need to do is promise that if things were different there would be a chance for US. We know sex can’t top how you feel for our friendship. At Frank’s we know you can love us both but only copulate with him. You’re not easy after all!

Don’t worry we’ll gladly take the carrot or the stick. We know our smile is not so toothy, our muscles not so defined, but were so damned happy to be your Number 2. If nothing is permanent in this world, why have a fling with a dud like us? We don’t even have a load of cash to throw around! You’d be a fool not to have a stud on your arm in public!

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