a squirrel was fighting with plastic that had blown into the tree branches. struggling with the plastic sheeting, i watched and recalled dead bodies i saw when i was thirteen, bodies of sea turtles washed up on the shore of montauk, long island; lessons for how your sandwich bags could become weapons for murder.
the squirrel ran off with a bit of the plastic wrapped up, new material for the nest, the home. guess we both forgot how the end of march can be so cold.
Same as it ever was. Gidget is playing on the TV, on mute.
(as she spoke into the sand
a proton was screaming.)