kicking the corpse

> It gets hot from time to time. I know not how to explain it, neither if.
It’s like a pang.
It comes and goes, bellows, cries, yells, tells the world that it must break free.
Break it free if you must.
>

> Take off your jacket; it’s far too early in the fall. Hug the wind.
>

> I sometimes wish I’d moved to a different country. Maybe, then,
I’d feel a little better. One where the sun’s brighter, rain wetter.
Set her down, now. She’s wailing.
>

> I look outside the window. I tend to stick my forehead to the plastic and peer straight down when I do.
I see everything.
Mountains puff clouds of smoke, seas swallow them whole; all rise.
Minutes pass.
Cotton skies part, season flakes of cocaine at the tip of the highest hill,
>

> There’s a child crying in the seat right in front of me. I kick as hard as I can.
I kick repeatedly. Minutes pass; she dies not.
Cotton skies part, cocaine dots the noses of the highest hills, and her act’s up.
>

> The attendant is here.
>

> “Go get me a beer, woman.”
>

> They don’t ask for ID;
They know who her father is.
>