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Thirst
“I tell you it’s dry. Bone dry.”
I turn the spigot anyway and it hissed and sputtered at me.
“Told you.”
My tongue felt swollen, my lips cracked and bled.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” I asked, joining him on the steps. I
looked out over the yard, or what was left of it. Dry and brittle grass burned
yellow, the ground held deep fissures. Even the earth was thirsty.
“Yep, but I try not think about it.”
It was all I could
think about. I was surprised that I was
still alive, and I regretted it at the same time. We sat unmoving, staring at the baked yard
and blazing sun. Thirst.