Dian Duchin Reed

Three O’Clock

F-bombs explode all along the block, dropped by high-school students on their way—where?—home or to work or to hang out, all of them carrying something…

empty shell

carrying their black trumpet cases, their backpacks, their cell phones, their future selves…

the hermit crab

their future selves expanding daily, growing, exploding, barely contained by skin…

finds something bigger