Seamen in Sweat Socks
by
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Crab carriage
Your socks (as dirty as the may be) keep my head level. As I watch them flopping around in the dryer I’m reminded of that night you ate a whole lot of mushrooms and found a baby carriage in the middle of the road, and then when you looked inside sitting peaceful in the centre of the carriage was a crab and you looked at it and after a while of silence you said, ‘crab carriage’ and we went back to your apartment and fucked on that mattress that always smelt like Kraft dinner cheese no matter how far away you kept your nose from it and when I was on top at one point you starting humming the tune from ‘Threes company’ and if that wasn’t enough you starting shouting
“Furly, oh Furly.” as you picked up the pace, I kept my eyes closed the whole time, and thought of Chrissy.
Promise
Never tell me you
understand, and after
you are dead, I promise:
I won’t go through your
stuff.
Ages
For ages now, I’ve tried to say something
without speaking,
Tried to create a statement without a
sound.
Closing off, reaching out,
Exposing my insides and not liking the
smell.
Driftwood.
Drift wood, tumbleweeds, train station coffee in styrofoam cups.
Somewhere there is a voyage that the destination has no bearing on the journey.
Highway lines.
In our end what will be left…is all the things we never expressed and we will take with us our regret….
Where ever we are headed.
The Juggler.
A juggler, a madman, and a porcupine contemplate the merit of a baloney sandwich.
“Just in its name…tells you all you need to know.” Whispers the madman. …
But it may have just been in his head….
And the others weren’t even listening….any way.
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About the Book
Keep looking at me, and maybe over time,
I’ll turn into what you see.
What are we looking for when we want to be seen? What images appear through the haze? What are we doing here and who are we really? Sometimes after the dust has settled at coffee shops, in laundromats, and other places we often visit, our views of life and those around us can become distorted and confusing.
In a collection of varied writings, Hal Perry shares short stories, poems, and prose with the intent of fulfilling the connection we all yearn for while on this crazy voyage called life, and to make sense of a journey that came without proper instructions. His writings explore diverse topics like the vastness of the sky, dreaming while awake, a bourbon-drinking cat, rain’s beautiful symphony, a lonely beaver, and a woman with an extraordinary smile.
Seamen in Sweat Socks is a volume of short tales, poems, and prose that lyrically travel through the voids of life to find a togetherness in a lonely world.
About the Author
Hal Perry was born in Toronto, Ontario. He studied creative writing at Concordia University in Montreal, and recently completed short fiction workshops at George Brown College in Toronto. Hal used to enjoy long walks on the beach, but now can be found sitting in a lawn chair, staring toward the horizon with his dog, Frank, by his side. This is his first book of fiction.