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I’ve been a little weird since he died.

Not sad weird but maybe sad weird.

Most things don’t feel like saying

and the things said

are often about

the jasmine fireflies

or how wine

some white wine tastes like a cat

licking your paw.

My left ear hurts. I hear gunshots

but it’s the suburbs so I hear more gunshots

jealous husbands and absent husbands

moth men in grey ash suits

needing to be shooed away. Mostly I

don’t know what words do.

But plans work.

I’ve decided to dig up his grave

for a military parade

open the casket and eat pizza and fettuccine and

my mother will say she looks like an Asian woman.

Today I’ll sleep in the supermarket.