MORTARS

Do you need the darkness described to you? The infernal hatred with which generations have fueled themselves? Or would you rather sit back and enjoy tonight’s program? On the news today. Struggling. Bumblebees fighting. Anthropomorphic. Spell it. Childhood toys rescued from a fire. I can feel it in the top of my head now, numbing, moving further down scraping, through the spine, into the marrow… The knife slips. Someone must have done something wrong. I pushed the door open and walked out on my own. Removed the needles and threw them on the floor. Stumbled on a pool of oil in the parking lot. Crouched down, spilled over, into the mulch. I had my clothes on but the holes were bleeding badly. It was none of her business, though. Get back to work.