© Chris Port, 2011
NARRATOR: The weather has never read a book. There is no pathetic fallacy. The sun shines on depression. Clouds hurry like shoppers past the homeless. The gulls mewl without pity. This cheery morning, bloody hands hum and wash with soap. Marty Gull just hums. It’s time to publicly name those hands. He is not Jesus. He does not forgive. And he will be silent soon enough. The writ of court injunctions is not recognized by an afterlife.