My Son Started Packing My Barbecue Into Takeout Boxes

and for Miss Janice. Hannah did dishes though I told her not to. Frank carried chairs back to the shed.

By six-thirty the yard was empty.

Paper napkins in the trash.

Smoker cooling down.

A half pie under foil on the counter.

And those two stupid canvas bags still sitting by the dining table, forgotten in the scramble.

I stared at them for a long minute.

Then continue reading …