So I listen to the litany of malaise that have left him precarious but I starts to get bored so I starts telling Uncle Sammy that he looks green, that he has a look of chlorosis about him. I rub his scrofula. I tell him I sense erysipelas. And I can see the fecundating fear permeate his body….”


by paul kavanagh



Bless me father for I have sinned it’s been one week since my last confession. Dear father it started badly, after my last confession I went home and stole a few pound out of my daddy’s pocket. He was drunk and sleeping off the beer. Now and again he trumpeted a fine volley of farts and when he was not farting he was dribbling snot all over himself. I needed the money to do some more sinning father. My mother was out. She was shopping. My grandmother was watching the television. Yes Father the cataract operation went well. But she won’t be able to see for a couple of weeks. I don’t know why I did it father, but I went upstairs and got one of our Billy’s DVDs. It was a dirty movie father. it was filthy father. All kinds of filth father. I put it on father. I knew it would not wake up my daddy. He was out for the count. He would only stir when the need to drink touched the tip of his tongue. So I took the control off me Grandmother father and put on the dirty movie. She hadn’t a clue. All she could see was a blur. She started laughing. She thought the show was funny. The music got to her father. She started to lift up her frail hands and drum to the beat of the music. She was loving it father. It beat the news she said. I sat next to her and we watched the dirty movie. When the couple was kissing my grandmother got maudlin and said that was how she kissed once a long time ago. A car pulled up outside. I knew it was a taxi. I saw my mother was stepping out of the taxi. I jumped up quickly and turned off the DVD. What are you doing? Shouted my Grandmother. I was enjoying that. It was funny. They don’t make movies like that anymore. You’ll have to show it to your mother and father. They love movies like that. I got the dirty movie out of the machine and back under Billy’s bed before my mother could get the shopping bags in the door. She was exhausted. She asked me to make her a cup of tea. I told her to make her own tea. I called her a lazy bag of bones. I left the house. I kicked the dog that was lazily sleeping in the sun. He whimpered. So I kicked him again. And who comes walking up the garden path, good old hypochondriacal Uncle Sammy. My mother’s brother. The anathema my daddy calls him. Psychosomatic, psychosomatic, shouts my daddy when he’s not too pissed on beer and gin. Uncle Sammy articulates in whispers, he can’t shout, he can’t sing, the result of some traumatic aphasia, says my daddy father. Anyway Father, he sees me and smiles but I can’t help it. I block his entrance into the house and I start asking him questions pertaining to his health. He was a teratoma, bellows my daddy pugnaciously. So I listen to the litany of malaise that have left him precarious but I starts to get bored so I starts telling Uncle Sammy that he looks green, that he has a look of chlorosis about him. I rub his scrofula. I tell him I sense erysipelas. And I can see the fecundating fear permeate his body. You’ve not the pox have you, I ask him. I take a frightening step back to exacerbate his febrile state. I put my hand over my mouth and nose and shy away. I run around him and leave him in a pother. I can hear him cry as though he is on the precipice of moribundity. And he lets out this big wet fart. He shat himself I think. And I do a singsong all the way down the road about death just incase Uncle Sammy can hear me. So I meets up with dirty dirt box Sue. You won’t know her father. She’s of the other persuasion, destined for hell father. I tell her that I’ve got the money and we’ll get some beer and cigarettes and have a trip to the park. She was happy as a lark father. She loves a leg over. A good tupping. A bit of the old in out. Euphemistically speaking father. So I gets this drunk to purchase me some beer and cigarettes. Now this drunk is so pissed he forgot to take the money off me. He’s got his eyes upon Sue’s petite paps. See father I told her that she should jump up and down on the spot to distract him father. It works everytime. So he hands us the gear and I tells Sue to push out her arse as we walk away. Just in case he starts to remember. In the park we find this quiet spot and drink and smoke. We’re like two chimneys we are father. We’re chain smoking seeing who can finish a cigarette the first. She wins all the time. She practices on cocks, I mean willies father. Next we start on the beer. She guzzles like my daddy she does. After a lot of beer she needs to piss father. She says that I should wait and that she will piss behind a bush. But I lie father, she gets up and I give her a few seconds and then I follow her and I watch her piss. Got me going father, when she came back I dragged her down to me and we did the old beast with two backs father. I learnt that in class the other day father, Othello father, Shakespeare. I ‘m a clever boy me father. I glean all the time. I mean Sue does these things to me father. But then she finishes the beer off and so I hits her father. I pulled her hair and punched her in the face father. I kicked her in the belly and chased her around the park until we both threw up. And I go again father and there’s all these people screaming at us father. Calling us dirty animals father. But that didn’t stop us father. Well father I was now huffed and puffed and there was no way I could walk home. So I tells Sue to get down on her knees. I climb on her back and make her carry me father. I donkeyback father. Yes father she was cussing and calling me dreadful names. But father I told her I was a god, like the Romans did father, like Caligula and Nero father. I told her she was lucky to have a god upon her back. If I was Zeus father I told her I would stick me thingie up her arse. Zeus did that a lot father I read. So I got her to sing songs about my glory and I told her that if she dropped me I would smite her father. Anyway father there are my sins laid out before you. I know I’ve been a bad boy father. I real bad boy and I’m sorry father. Yes father I repent.

Originally published:
Issue Forty-Three
June 2006

Paul Kavanagh was born in England in1971 and now lives in South Carolina. He is happy. His wife is happy. Together they are happy. H. Langden says: “Paul Kavanagh cannot sit still, he drinks too much tea, he succumbs to Pascal’s melancholy for he is unable to remain quietly in a room.” Paul Kavanagh has been published in Thieves Jargon, Underground Voices, Unlikely stories, Milk Magazine, Laurahird, Cellar Door, The Layabout, Skive Magazine, Mad Swirl, Zygote in my Coffee, The Lampshade, Girls with Insurance, zafusy Poetry Journal and a few others. More from Paul Kavanagh can be found in the Vault of Smoke.


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