Homecoming

Homecoming

It was awkward and messy; fallen leaves barely brittle, the underlying bed of rot was cold, moist, and uneven -- neither of us wanted to be there; both too afraid to stop, shivering under holey blanket. The school was obscured from the clearing, but the halftime band’s bass thumped our breasts; marked our engagement with urgency. Empty Fireball nips saluted the song, laughed at our imprecision. We dressed by a lifeless chickadee -- slate corpse indistinguishable from its granite resting place. A titmouse whistled our processional -- the chick’s dirge -- while the band marched to rejoin us for the remainder of the game.