Pickup

Standard

An outhouse
at 2:17 am
in high summer,
air hot and harsh
as fresh tar.
Her life,
offal on a plank
in darkness,
necessary leavings.
A hole in which to drop.
Opossums
gorging
and curling.

There was that time
he muscled the pump,
priming,
drawing frigid water upwards
so it rushed over her,
washed her clean.

Was there a moon?
She saw
only the purposeful glow
of his truck’s headlights.

Her,
offal.

Life on a plank.

July 2014
Julie Ayers

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