Tuesday, May 29, 2007


He had a mild stroke while sitting at the table. He got up, dizzy, and wandered into the swim of dancers. They parted around him, or gently bumped his shoulder, his hip, until he reached the still middle. The band played something that wasn't music but hooves on hard grass. His wife was at the bar smoking with the men she knew and she saw him and he waved. The air was very much like hot silk as he breathed. His wife came towards him, perplexed and intense, and he knew he only had a couple seconds left. The smoke, the lights, the heat, they weren't what he wanted, but he'd never been right.


katrina said...

Your work makes me breathless. Love this. I'm going to have fun reading the rest.

Laura said...

A lovely piece. Hooves on hard grass=niiiiice.

Joseph Young said...

Thanks, L and K.