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will be staying home all summer and through the fall, saving our own lives since no one else will save them. Some are unable to resist the bar on Main Street the riverbank when it hits 90 in mid-July and I'm not saying I could either if my future didn't depend on it. Oh, to eat meals cooked by another hand and not wash that blue Dansk pan again, again, that was my mother's, pandemic be damned. Through the open door I can smell faint smoke: a burn pile since it's too warm for wood stoves and not fire season yet, though that's coming, a dry winter behind us. Likely power shut-downs too, to try to circumvent the blazes and the lawsuits that follow. Greed's crazy addictiveness has led to this is my guess: the whole country snarled into such a hot mess you wouldn't recognize democracy if she removed her skirts and danced on your lap for free, pretending to like you. Not behind on rent, not desperate for every tip's last red cent.
Molly Fisk’s many books include The More Difficult Beauty (Hip Pocket Press, 2010).
Copyright 2020 Molly Fisk