When the car ran into the boy, he turned
into a goat with two heads and fled
into the hills, so we could not wander far.
My brother pointed to the bushes stirring—
There, he said. Do you see it? We sipped
Pepsi from small paper cups and napped
on the floor until the windows dimmed.
Guests came for dinner—silver, fine china,
a cup of tea, a slice of cake. Our neighbor
sang Strauss. Her hands came down on
the piano keys as if she meant to hurt them.
Her voice became the room, a spoon
trembling on the edge of a saucer. Everyone
remained composed. I could feel myself
cracking like a clay pot. When I broke, I held
both hands over my mouth, but my voice came
rushing out, a great sob that sounded like
laughter. I laughed so hard, I couldn’t breathe.