Stress in America
Kat Meads

Besides shoes and chair legs, they went after coolers, passed on tennis balls, flower bulbs and sacks of potting soil. They might keep a screwdriver but rarely a hammer. Golf clubs, occasionally. T-shirts if they sported an awesome logo. No toys, ever, except one doll with a crushed skull and tread marks. That they hung by its neck from a rafter. In a breeze, it flew like a tipsy angel. CDs, cigs, prescription specs they grabbed no matter how smashed or broken. Ditto anything girl: curlers, lipstick, barrettes, pantyhose. Ziploc bags, they'd learned by experimenting, preserved all kinds of smells, including crotch.

isbn 1-882983-72-6 35 pages $9