All the turkey dwindling in a freezer container seven feet away. When I moved in here my parents were here and it is apropos that they should be here this weekend – my last. My fingers are scarred, thumb pads rent from the mesh. Today was a long day. The walls have told all their stories and I am itching, this day after thanksgiving, for new palates on which to plaster new stories – clean walls, my walls.
I am running naked and wet through the rain tonight; the family quietly sleeps in sudden slumber. The fun that was had will be had again – but not quite in the same way – if not now, then very soon.
I ate the jello cranberries: my favorite. I sucked my thumb. I played Ken and Barbie and Ken. She can’t stand up. She’s dancing to stay upright. Kicked the high-heels into the pool. Goodnight this place; it is slowly dismantling. Goodnight sweet prince; he’s dead. Goodnight Candler Park, or Lake Claire, or whatever you are.