White Poofs

The white poofs are here, and we are looking for goddamned rabbits.

The Bald Man is hiding a nest of them behind the small black fence.

He doesn’t even try to pretend otherwise.

He came across them while he was putting markers (“plaaants”) in the ground. Small and impossible and all eyes shut.

(Also: why put markers (“plaaants”) in the ground if they are behind a fence and we can’t mark them?)

We know he sides with them. The tiny, impossible rabbits. We know his heart is big and it melts the way my mouth melts when there are salmon bites in his cargo shorts. The way my mind melts with the hot, loud whisper of the afternoon sun on my belly.

We know he’d cave in a motherfucking street fight. Shatter. Like a white poof.

And today we saw a giant turkey in the meadow next door and Rothko made a noise I had never heard before and the turkey flew which is something turkeys do sometimes.


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