Jump
By Alyce Miller
Today’s the day I bid adieu to all the malarkey. No more points to prove. No more fish to fry. It’s come like this:
Me, reduced to the knees, working like old boots in the nuptial chamber of our sprawling wikiup, scotch-taping ants to the floor, all because Bluie repeatedly consumes Saltines in bed. The umpteenth times I’ve warned him. Warned him, lo, these many years about not distributing his snack crumbs everywhere, warned him about the marks of his dirty hocks speckling my floors, warned him about the eel juice, warned him about acting the maggot, but most of all, warned him about the wenches.
©2007 Alyce Miller. All rights reserved.
