snails make the most disgusting sound
when they’re crunching underfoot
it’s a wet, fleshy crunch,
light on the crackle component
somewhat exotic and french,
in that regard
still, one wouldn’t want to walk
about in the grass
barefooted after it rains,
when there are scores of snails in the yard
many of them up by the house
right in front of the doors
camouflaged by darwin’s god
better it would be now
if they were day-glo orange
or carried harder shells
or less meat
or moved faster
or weren’t snails
(Originally published in Oxford Magazine, Vol. XVII, 2003. Copyright 2003, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
chicago’s the dumpy one
nobody ever asks her out and nobody’s ever going to
except maybe that guy
the one who works for the plumber
she doesn’t have anything to wear
it’s like trying to dress a potato
her sister new york’s the one who got all the looks
nice figure too and lots of style
lots of taste
always well dressed and going somewhere
she can have any man she wants
but she’s picky
she has class and she’s not going cheap into the bargain
their sister ellay is the one they don’t like to talk about
but they will if you ask
chicago will frown and new york will stick her nose up in the air
and they will tell you what a tramp their sister is
she goes around dressed in bathing suits and t-shirts and flip-flops
everywhere
and she will sleep with anybody
anywhere
and she’s a druggie too
whatever she can get her hands on
they won’t tell you they secretly think she’s the most interesting
even though she has never read a book
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The customs as to the allowance of ‘grub’ are very nearly the same in all American merchantmen. Whenever a pig is killed, the sailors have one mess from it. The rest goes to the cabin. The smaller live stock, poultry, etc., they never taste. And, indeed, they do not complain of this, for it would take a great deal to supply them with a good meal, and without the accompaniments, (which could hardly be furnished to them,) it would not be much better than salt beef. But even as to the salt beef, they are scarcely dealt fairly with; for whenever a barrel is opened, before any of the beef is put into the harness-cask, the steward comes up, and picks it all over, and takes out the best pieces, (those that have any fat in them) for the cabin. This was done in both the vessels I was in, and the men said that it was usual in other vessels. Indeed, it is made no secret, but some of the crew are usually called to help in assorting and putting away the pieces. By this arrangement the hard, dry pieces, which the sailors call ‘old horse,’ come to their share. There is a singular piece of rhyme, traditional among sailors, which they say over such pieces of beef. I do not know that it ever appeared in print before. When seated round the kid, if a particularly bad piece is found, one of them takes it up, and addressing it, repeats these lines:
‘Old horse! old horse! what brought you here?’
—‘From Sacarap to Portland pier
I’ve carted stone this many a year:
Till, killed by blows and sore abuse,
They salted me down for sailors’ use.
The sailors they do me despise:
They turn me over and damn my eyes;
Cut off my meat, and pick my bones,
And pitch the rest to Davy Jones.’
There is a story current among seamen, that a beef-dealer was convicted, at Boston, of having sold old horse for ship’s stores, instead of beef, and had been sentenced to be confined in jail, until he should eat the whole of it; and that he is now lying in Boston jail. I have heard this story often, on board other vessels beside those of our own nation. It is very generally believed, and is always highly commended, as a fair instance of retaliatory justice.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast