I buy one of Hillary Clinton’s pantsuits off eBay and go as what if for Halloween. If you wait long enough even a cloud will rot. I stand at the edge of the swimming pool at the Holiday Inn Express and watch a manatee chase a speedboat. It is easier to buy a gun than adopt a dog, so I buy a gun and rob a pet store. I steal all the puppies. My favorite emotion is Taylor Swift. For our anniversary, my husband gives me a bouquet of femurs. I put them in a casket we use as an ottoman in the living room. I ask Siri if they sell bulletproof onesies.

Siri says, You can’t see it, but I’m shrugging right now. She tells me to wave a wand and pull a rabbit out of a heart. I do, but the rabbit is dead. I vote we get rid of gym teachers and use their salaries to give every kid a bulletproof backpack. I am scared and it’s not even night. I tell my daughter she is the wilderness in the movie where the wilderness rips the beards off lumberjacks. I smoke a pack of menthols under a palm tree in the middle of a mirage. I ask Siri if 5G gives you cancer. Siri says, Cancer gives you cancer.

This morning I woke up breathing in reverse. Having a one-night stand with Ryan Gosling’s abs is my fourth favorite fantasy. Can you photoshop love? I can’t remember the last time I ate butternut squash. I don’t even know if I like butternut squash. Whenever I drive through Oklahoma, all I see is cowboys riding glue sticks. I ask Siri how many people fall in love at gun shows. Siri says, The same amount of people who were born on a Wednesday.

I steal a lake and get run over by a car. If my husband had a twin brother, I’d totally fuck him. My therapist gives me a silver medal for waking up. I’m so good at kissing in Pig Latin, you don’t even know. Vampire Weekend is my seventh favorite band. When I take too much Adderall, my heart gets a migraine.

I love it.

Leigh Chadwick is the author of the chapbook, Daughters of the State (Bottlecap Press, 2021), as well as the full-length collection, Wound Channels (ELJ Edition, 2022). Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Salamander, Heavy Feather Review, Olney Magazine, and ONE ART, among others. Find her on Twitter at @LeighChadwick5.

I hear coyotes yapping in the distance, singing their song to the moon mother. My heart yearns to learn their song, but my voice can’t match the notes or rhythm. The only noise I make is a low hum-growl, throaty and guttural. They don’t hear me and keep yapping, singing, and dancing on the Oklahoma red earth. Car lights flash and their singing stops. Back to work.

The sun leans heavily on us redskins working the road crew. Paving highway roads, patching potholes, and getting hollered at for making an honest living. We get paid fifteen bucks an hour to hold a Slow Down sign and yet the locals call us drunks, crackheads, and lazy freeloaders. Most people think it’s court ordered community service, but it ain’t. Just regular work for the county. I make more money selling dope, except that business doesn’t offer insurance. The county does.

Once, I heard a wolf howling.

Damon McKinney is an Indigenous writer from Oklahoma and he is the former Associate Editor for Likely Red Press, a former Contributing Editor of Fiction for Barren Magazine, and the Managing Editor for Emerge Literary Journal