Landfill

bones. Visible under bits of meat and dark skin—strewn, wanting    y’all-better-finish eating-‘fore-y’all-go-outside-bones left with animal still clinging by a child, too secure; whittled back-in-MY-day-bones used to pick teeth (also bones) with plaque; dried out bones of apples ex-red.

The fibula of a last meal: two pizza rolls. Did-you-know-there-was-pork-in-this??-bones—of a pork chop; orange bones, pumpkin skull with a mouth perpetually open and soundless. Here, the femur. New-diet-bones of a salad, (I just couldn’t finish it) lettuce left melting over tense parmesan by a thin woman, secure.

Walmart bags of pomegranate bones left on shelves to ooze from their bruises—still $3.69. And to the left, his

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