∧
font size
∨

Drowning In Ohio

Neila Mezynski

Up to his knees. It was. Water. Aching. Joint. Rusting. Hadn’t reached the computer yet. He would mind that water sogged keyboard not knees. She told him only five minutes in there, that office. Even if. The water was rising, it was, still had two left. Minute. He might beat that game. Not yet. Time enough to escape knee deep water some satisfaction. Only. While it’s hot if he won the game. Soggy bread on fully baked ready made, no toilet there can’t find the butter jam on water rising in the fridge, lettuce, milk carrots. It was ready was he. Hadn’t sold the house either too don’t leave even if. Go down house ship. Another dry waiting woman. Condition aplenty but at least they weren’t water logged. Much. Only rope around the neck. Keep your tongue out pretty boy maybe you’ll catch a crumb or two. Even if.

They walked or floated. Pretty blonde, dark hair one. Sightseers from building to building get away from her they did he did go tearing scab from sore to sore. Like. All teeth and smile twist turn look look here there. Ankle deep. Not in Madrid that pudding was not, here and watered down. Like a ship in mired muck. That house too. They said they did not. Water it. Only roses. Tall grey head one in candy shop or pastry place with too many eyes and not enough. Watery.