Poops

All ends of my body have been hugging my porcelain throne these past few days. I’m used to it. My toilet bowl and I are involved. I’m thinking of moving my desk in there to really nest.

I went into the field and saw a funeral procession. A body lay on a bed, toes up, wrapped in a white sheet. Men carried the body above their heads solemnly. No one shed a tear or made a noise. Call me old fashioned but I feel like there should be some outward grieving at a funeral. I plan to hire some wailers, some women who really know how to gnash their teeth, tear their hair out and make a soup of their makeup at my funeral.