When he’s tired I lose the world around me. Don’t talk, nobody talks to him. He won’t listen. Like a heavy ball of dough, he can’t separate his limbs from his torso, or move his neck; he has no spine. ‘Here you go, you‘ll feel better when you’ve rested.’ Won’t talk to you either, lacks the ability of human speech. When he’s tired I just need to wait for another full circle. I can’t stay here forever. The summer will smell of warm cornfields and we’ll stop at diners on the highway, I’ll tell him that on Monday.
by Valeria Alevra