
Fish Moon
New Year’s Eve means cod. Always has. Alway will. So we head for the harbour. The whole family, and a few who aren’t, squeezing into the old Volvo, always bits of Pop’s job in the back. Trowels rough with mortar, buckets, crusty boots, white overalls. Pop’s a bricky. Bricklayer. Muremand. We race down the lane to catch Marc’s fishing boat just as he ties up. Marc’s a wave of a man, broad, well fed by the looks, he laughs like a sudden crack of thunder, and crashes about like a fish outta water. Pop hands him a large bottle of homemade cider. Marc hands Pop a package nearly as long his arm. Cod for booze is the trade.
At home, Pop unwraps our cod. A high-gloss shine, silvery and smelling of sea. And I’m thinking it’s a moon wrapped in brown paper.
dVerse Prosery. 144 words including the phrase “it is a moon wrapped in brown paper”. Changed (it is) to it’s for the sake of verb tense. Photo from Unsplash, Title: Still life with fish. Institution: Rijksmuseum. Provider: Rijksmuseum. Providing Country: Netherlands. Public Domain (note: muremand is Danish for a bricklayer) ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #dVerse_Poets on Twitter
12 responses to “16.02.22 dVerse Prosery”
Beautiful. I love “wave of a man” and the ending is just sensational.
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Thank you very much!
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I love, love this!
❤
David
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Thanks, David! ❤️
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It’s the middle of winter; that’s why it’s always cod on New Year’s Eve!
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Were you also raised with cod on NYEve?
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No! 🤣🤣🤣 It is co(l)d!
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😂 Oh for goodness sake.
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In my part of the world you can get away with pronouncing cold, cod. As in, I’ve got a bit of a cod, or it’s blooming cod out there!
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❤️
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Love it, M. Proseriffic!
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Thank you.
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