Dead dogs line the road,
stripey reckons he saw a
bear. Everybody loses their
darling at some point. In your next
letter to me I wish you’d say –
how is it being so far from home so
tan and so foreign
because I, myself, am exhausted.
You know I would open it in the
earliest piece of morning. Stripey says it
might actually have been
a gorilla. Arthritis paints
the late night parking lot. Alex
rolls me a cigarette and we leave the car full of our
things and quiet breath, I stagger home to
dream all night long of blue, tuneless
whistling and suddenly wake too
late for breakfast.
.
Blossom Hibbert
.