The room is cold but the street is hot; fry your brain and feel it seep out your ear hot.
Damn, it is just June; we got a long one this year, he tells her.
Uh-huh, she says, lost in her phone.
How was your day, he says.
Yeah, fine, same – I guess.
What film, he says. Just one I found.
He rolls on his back. Vows to stay calm.
She puts the phone down. Turns to face him.
He does the same.
This is how it starts. And this is how it will end.
In a few hours the sun will rise; find them lying side by side in the quiet. The kids not yet up. The dog still in his cage. The words that smashed through the dark soft and dead on the floor; blue as ice that melts in the heat of a new day.
John's Writing 