He didn’t know any better so he wore it and just as proud as
anybody, that garbage bag his mama borrowed from a neighbor,
waking up to find it raining and him without a raincoat and it
would always be so because there was always something else
needed and anyway he’d die in his eighth year because not only
didn’t he own a raincoat, he didn’t own a jacket and certainly not
one that was bulletproof—but that day he didn’t care; he was
happy to be dry like everyone else.
—First appeared in Puerto del Sol, 1991
Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz is a fiction writer and poet. In other incarnations, she is a teddy bear artist, a comedienne and somebody's mother.
Post a Comment