“It’s dying,” I said and Natalie fixed me with her
good eye; I knew what she was thinking. I went
over and opened the car boot. I pulled out a shovel
and brought it back.”
weighty gust of arctic wind combined with
Mrs Fulck’s moo of love, caused him to lurch
backwards, then forwards, then backwards,
then forwards. One forward lurch too
many saw gravity nudge Mr Fulck in the
rear to send him flapping wildly like a lead
peppered grouse to the unyielding earth
below. An airtight saturninity was draped
over the universe as a shudder rippled
upwards from ground to rooftop.
The “Three”, who had remained reverentially
silent throughout Mr Fulck’s life affirming
adventure, looked at each other blankly
before heaving themselves up onto the wall
to witness the spectacle of Mr Fulck lying
like a human swastika on a bed of cranberry
sauce on the cracked paving below.
The “Three” remained speechless till Goryi
uttered in a low croak; “Yes, Fujiwawa, it is
time for peanut butter”.
Nat and Charlie
As I drove she fell asleep again, lying
along the back seat with a white
hospital blanket dragged over her.
The cold night wind off the Mojave Desert
swam in through the crack at the top of the
window and flicked through her hair.
It was four a.m. when, later, I parked our
car by the roadside. I left her asleep and
walked out into the violet black, into the
sounds of crickets and the closing wing beat
of a predatory bird. Walking on the gravel
– being careful of rattlesnakes (they’re
drawn to the tarmac, becoming sleepy and
dangerous in the lonely car beams) – I took
one long, satisfying leak, then trod some
more to iron out the muscle creases in my
legs. I felt the shingle’s crunch underfoot
and looked up for the hint of yellow light
about to creep into the dark; the morning
sun that would soon cook the car’s insides
and send sweat running down my back.
Hard to imagine, it was so cold right now,
the night flooded with frosted stars and