“Why doesn’t Jerry ever get caught?”

February 4, 2011

Quiet. Like the sweltering summer heat.
Shimmering. Like the sweltering summer air.
Boy wakes up in a pool of sweat. Neck glistening with sweat and grime.
Opens the arched windows of green to the narrow street of brown.
An old, unbuttoned belly heaves in the manner of the fatigued nap.
Up and down with each tired breath.
Dog wheezes in the shade, in-sync with Man.
Father is in bed with Mother.
Door closed. Copulating.
Mother’s cries stifled by soggy pillows.
Boy sits dreary in front of the TV.
Boy wonders.
“Why doesn’t Tom ever die?”

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