Darlene

I walk through the door. Darlene

pretends not to notice. She's got

a game show on the television, smudges

on her slip, and a lipstick cigarette.

I dump string beans in a colander and run

the tap. But the beans are bad on account of frost.

Slippery. I chop them up anyway, toss them in a pot,

set them on the stove, then strike a matchstick.

The bean crop was old Lester's idea. We'd get through

winter on the profit we'd make is what he’d said.

But then the frost came, and Lester gave up

on life and he quit taking his heart medication.

His dog Rags started hanging his head after that.

Then one day he dragged his tail to the coyote

holes and they finished him off. Lester and Rags

have nothing to worry about anymore.

The wind loaded up on the foothills an hour ago.

It's kicking the hell out of everything in the farmyard.

I go out to secure the doors, and the wind blows my

hat off. I chase after it and peel it off the fence.

I go back inside and grab my pool cue and my keys. 

Darlene's glassy eyes are fixed on a game show.

I what her to know what I think of her laziness.

But she knows what I'm thinking, and she smiles.

I want her to know how I resent the things she does. 

She tugs one of her slip straps down and studies my eyes. 

I'm not going to fall for it. But my eyes go there,

and I can't get them back.