Wolf’s Folly

By Christine Hamm

Water under, water over. Your postmortem

showed disappointment slash ignorance about

the pool of black teeth under the living room,

and erasure as avoidance of reproduction.

That night, you forgot to say affection was unstuck

from our hands, tongues, windpipes, and indifference

was found exactly by the GPS in our overturned

car by the bridge. I was telling the truth when I said

I rolled you into the river, all fat and aftermath.