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AUGUST 2009 |
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Gardening
When they come for you, I’ll say you left with just the clothes on your back. Went out for beer and never
returned. Maybe ran into your ex-thing Lolita, took one look at those skinny legs and couldn’t see straight. Or
you owed someone money. A payday advance never repaid, a high-interest loan. They might believe me, because you
are just that dumb. Maybe I’ll crack wide open and tell them the way I dreamed it over and over, you walking over
the bridge carrying a six-pack, stumbling, and whoosh! off balance you tip over the guardrail and are gone, and
no one knows for sure until your body washes up downstream, all bloated and fish-nibbled. But if they press hard,
the truth might come: that you were never real, just a nightmare I had for years until I woke up one day, knowing
what to do. Paula Treick DeBoard lives, works and writes in Modesto, California. Her work is forthcoming in The Sycamore Review, The Shine Journal and Cantaraville. |
