Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'Zero at the Bone' by David Wheatley | Page 52

SCENE EIGHTEEN
NEMO
I’ve dropped anchor in Monrovia,
Gdansk and Nassau, but nothing can compare
to fetching up like a drowned rat over here.
I thought I’d do my business and get out,
but there’s more than dust, now, stuck to my feet,
and no dip in the tide’s going to wash that off.
And as for Mutt and Jeff, you’re having a laugh.
Their mad hatters’ picnic is lacking a hamper
or two, I would have thought. Include me out.
But not until I get a few things straight.
I’m onto that Saxon, I’m more than a step ahead,
whatever notion he’s got into his head.
He thinks he’s playing me and waiting to pounce?
I’d call that guy all mouth and no pants.
The truth is I saw him before he saw me.
No pants indeed. This guy I’d call... slimy.
But talk about waiting to pounce! I’ve already got
my claws sunk in that ignorant Saxon’s gut.

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