I told my husband Sam that drinking bleach, even in small amounts, was a dumb idea. He snuck it, got sick but so far has lived.

Sam is like Neptune. He can be quite chilly and distant. Still, on his few better days, there’s something grand about him, larger than life some might say. I’d like to find a telescope into his soul. Neither of us believes that we have souls, but still. I’d like to see.

Sometimes I tell Sam that we must eat better. We both hate every vegetable. My friend Nancy asked “How are you still alive?”

I don’t know. I’m here. I’m queer. And I’m eating Good’s Potato Chips right now which truly are good.

Sam and I fight about music. He dislikes Marianne Faithfull, the greatest singer ever born who sounds like someone opened a box of razor blades in her throat. Sam says that sounds unpleasant. One time he threw a corn cob at me during dinner. I said I loved the early Bee Gees. He didn’t apologize but he did offer me a napkin.

We may get divorced or we may live vaguely ever after. We water ski and picnic--he will stay in a drenching rain eating a chicken leg without seeking shelter. I admire that. I also admire how ants build their hills. I build my hill everyday. It won’t last. What does?

About The Author

Kenneth Pobo has a new book forthcoming from Assure Press called Uneven Steven. His chapbook, Your Place Or Mine, was published in June 2020 by the State Poetry Society of Alabama. His work has appeared in: Hawaii Review, Atlanta Review, Nimrod, Mudfish, Philadelphia Stories, and elsewhere.