Hamper on the Deck

Spirited, frisky, flirty, and polished to a blinding sheen, this is my mother. My mother! She pounds on her kettle with a heavy oblong utensil, her hands stained black with soot from the fire she pulled it from.

I am punctured by the ancient island spirit as the miniscule orbs in my blood swell and vibrate and the sound attracts someone: my father. My father!

He extracts a gleaming silver needle from his fake hollow ass cheek and uses it to write music notation on my chest. A super football jock but also a nerd, he possesses the harsh guttural voice of a sulphur stork.