How the whole thing just sorta kinda went to hell

…

It was a Tuesday.

She remembers
that distinctly, because
the garbage men bore witness.

She was in the kitchen
making coffee
when he came in.
He said her name, and
for the first time
it sounded like a curse
word, as if the syllables
themselves had gone sour.

It hung in the air for a
moment, fetid and stinking,
then
fell like a stone
onto the cracked linoleum.

She didn’t even have
to turn around
to know; just looked
out the window, where the
men in orange smiled
and waved,
and took out
(almost all)
the trash.

 

 

..
PAD, day 10.
 

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