Came a time where no one called,
just as he wanted, while
the backyard furred with poison oak
and the cat slunk away. Milk could
push up to four days past date, towels
good for at least a week if hung.
Somewhere an old friend hiked fresh
trails, cheeks crimson with cold and
altitude, somewhere a woman stretched
beside her warm lover like a lynx.
Pages, pages back. He reached again
into the bag of Cheetos. Kept on reading.