Psalms

A light rain paces the roof, sounding nervous. I'm lifting a cup of coffee, noticing that each time I put it down a new ring is left behind, a residue of grind. Halfway down the cup and I count 7 rings, the archaeology of my day so far.

beer, diet pills, allergy pills, candy.

It's gray though, the clouds a tarp. It means the heat ain't goin' nowhere. 103 today, the grass already dead for the year.

There's a button on my tv that makes the screen go blue. I like to turn the lights off and let that fill the room.

soup for lunch, soup for dinner, no breakfast...a box fan whips up the dust.

When I was a kid we (my brothers and I) would drape our bed sheets over the box fan so that they would poof out into forts, flapping ones. We'd crawl around like termites, territorial.

I've been told that my grandfather lost his mind for a bit when he was in his mid 30's. He'd go missing for days at a time, then show up drunk and rambling. One time he didn't show up and they had to go search for him. Eventually, some neighbors found him roaming around the woods with a handgun, rambling again and seriously dehydrated.

More thunder now, and I'm tired despite the rain.