she asked me if the charcoal was ready
and i said yes, but she told me i was wrong.
she said if i don’t see flames shooting up from the chimney
then the charcoal isn’t fucking ready yet.
the chicken has been sitting there not cooking
for easily half an hour.
last night while i wasn’t looking,
lighting also hit a baseball field,
exploding all the trees and the chain linked fence
and scattering them across the outfield,
down the street from where we buried everything
or where everything was buried.
i wanted to ask her if she thought about digging up corpses
and holding them on trial for ridiculous things
or actual crimes. either one.
she asked me if i think a lot about death and dying
that she had read people do this often.
i said no.