carried in the groceries from the car,

buried another road-kill in the yard,

“… sorry, jordan’s friends just called from a far

and swore he wouldn’t get drunk at the bar.”

“so many cans, are we preping for war?”

you said as you hauled the bags from the store.

i said, “maybe if jordan came home more,

we both know he’s not like he was before…”

putting the olive oil up in its place,

you gave a sigh and stared out into space:

“weren’t you close three months back anyway?”

pasta in hand, “yea isn’t it a shame…”

by Elyza Tuan ’23, Co-Assistant Editor-in-Chief

23etuan@montroseschool.org