Random Impulse: 2nd Person Story from Class

The Ballad of Hans the Chicken Plucker


You wake up before the morning comes, when the moon retreats back to it's house. You hit the alarm like a stepchild, kiss the mantelpiece picture like a wife, and pat your stomach like a dog. You start the shower wait for the well-water to warm while on the toilet seat, make a scene with a magazine, take the shower singing top forty its from when you were 14 instead of 45. You get out, look down, naked. Playing peekaboo with your genitals, head back to the bedroom and dress in coveralls to cover your all, with tail tucked. You boil coffee, break eggs in the kitchen fro your breakfast time before the cock gets out of the roost and the sun rises like a tossed orange.  You think of the night of the week before. The hay is flat now, can;t get the cows t eat. Think of blonde hair and cargo shorts tucked downtown. You wake with a ding. Phone call for you. Phone call for you, Hans. You'll let the machine answer it. Drink the coffee and put on the glasses you wear for working.  Coke bottle bottoms to the crooked world,smudged with your fingerprints.  You put on your bots whit the white paint on them from the barn, go outside with blonde hair on your mind.