river rat: strawberry season a giant fell to earth,
his britches torn to his skin,
a strawberry bigger than father's car wept like a tree limb severed.
we brought him home, fed him cheeses and
all those rice crispies from when
Food Lion's transfer truck flipped in front of the house.
"can i stay?" he growled, more a purr -- not scary -- still, loud enough
to rumble glass and knock a jar of pickles
from the pantry shelf to the floor.
we fed him,
glass shards crunching, him smiling,
mom's best towels duct taped to his knees,
four boxes of cereal in his shirt pocket.
