Truck driver, second-floor roomer. Good for next month's rent? A screaming silence fell down three flights and hit the basement. Couldn't last any longer -- her getting by like. The jealousy. These others with husbands who still had teeth. Every broad in the building screamed down into her room -- screaming on her to make it, to get her hat -- scrape the wind outside. The blowing December slabs nailed her against herself, against her own desperation. And they had no idea why she split without a fight. All those strikes against her. Like this dude said who'd just come out of prison, Man I can't even afford to look with my eyes funny. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |