TO BED, TO BED—GOODNIGHT
I marched into the kitchen and dropped my suitcase onto the floor. It exploded. Dirty socks and frayed underwear sprung onto the appliances.
“I’m home,” I said.
“Where have you been?” asked my mother, blowing steam from a cup of coffee.
“Everywhere. I am a world traveler. I have seen everything and met everybody. A snake tried to bite me once. A cobra. I outran it. Now I’m back.”
“Where are you going?” asked my father, blowing steam from a cup of lentil soup.
“To bed, to bed—goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” said my parents as steam swallowed their heads and melted the cone of their throats . . .
D. Harlan Wilson is the author of several books of fiction and criticism, most recently the novel Blankety Blank: A Memoir of Vulgaria. His stories and essays have appeared in Fugue, Gargoyle, Zone 3, Monkeybicycle, Brutarian, .Ism Quarterly, The Cafe Irreal and Red Cedar Review among many others. Visit him online at www.dharlanwilson.com.