there is a splinter in the pad of my thumb.
I don’t know how or when it happened, 
but do know where.

our house has no floors thanks to the hurricanes. 
the bottom is concrete;
it collects dust faster than we can sweep.
the top is subfloor;
we have to wear shoes inside to prevent splinters.

my little sister forgot.
one got stuck in her foot before school.
she was only getting out of ...

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Oh, Good Lord, y’all, I thank we better git in the house. That sky is darker than Brother Jimmy’s sermon last Sunday, and it’s flashing like a God-damned disco. It’s gonna be a gully washer, all right, but Ronnie’s got the big truck if we git in any trouble, and we can surely trust Jesus will be with us. The last time we had a toad strangler like this, a big ol’ twister turned Alma’s roof inta too...

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