Shouldering
Forrest Roth

She valleys, That's us, that's us! over the river. Soda can we were sipping from bobbobbobbobbing hits a rock, sinks. Told her. We just won't make it down the Tanana, and it agrees, "Uh-huh."
Done? Yeah, done.
We pick up, brush ourselves off.
She grabs my hand.
She knows -- I know. They do, too. She squeezes.
"Roy Boy's gonna kill me," I'd remind her, but that grin.
"Dad took him downtown for overalls. Can't buy them in the village. So?"
I want to tell her, So it's not winter yet -- and winter doesn't kick tree bark the way I do. Flatten a forest of birch curls, if I get any chance.
"Let's get another soda," I say instead, watching the road back to the store. With a squint she drops me. I have to let her. The shoulder's mine for walking in front of her not being careful.
Because people might drive by like they're careful.

1996 © 2006