Sunday

Wild and ridiculous - loud mating calls in the woods.
Clacking sticks together - expressions of false seriosity.
We advance.

And here she comes - gray-faced and earnest in her need to warn us of the danger.
Grunting and chastising without a hint of a smile in her eyes.

Brown hair, pulled back. Mousy.
Ordinary tank top... capris...sandals.
She's clean. If she's crazy - she's well kept by someone.
Maybe she's for real.

We slink away like younglings caught smoking behind the tool shed. At once, defiant and cowed.

Surely, she laughed behind our backs.

Surely, she's laughing still.