Don’t talk to me–– he’s sifting papers heaped like leaves. He takes one from a creased envelope and puts it back. How did he drag the spare fridge from the shed when the white hulk died?
After the dump run, maybe you’ll see my grouse. She comes close to the car and scolds me, she’s trying to teach me Grouse.
Food blackens in the warm fridge. I sidestep salvaged lumber, open the back door––i’m looking for the ruffed bird. Begging the air.