Spirit asks Flesh what he’s gonna do once that thing is through?
Flesh squints, blinks, thinks.
Then he puffs on the cigarette, sends a curling finger of smoke trailing up to heaven through the warm rain.
“I don’t know,” he says, “wanna find out?”
And she’s his.
Until she isn’t.
George Evans is a querulous nuisance from Birmingham, Alabama. When he isn’t teaching (and sometimes when he is) he writes poems, essays, and stories. You can find him on Substack at Fourth Castle on the Left.