Out of necessity, they begin. The men, left alone, their women off to a group to discuss liberation or whatever it is women do in groups. Huddled together, as if caught in a downpour at a bus stop, the men repair to their own group. Sports, now off-topic, as are the women themselves.
For the second meeting, someone sneaks in a stained box of donuts, and they’re inhaled appreciatively. Every week, a new agenda, until they settle on a form of stilted sharing. Four weeks of donuts; it is time to move on.
And on the seventh day, a baggy appears. Odd papers, too, that look like lens wipes. One guy has a ‘strike-anywhere’ match lodged behind his ear, and puts it to therapeutic use.
trail blazers . . .
filling our footsteps
a fresh layer of leaves