By: Francine Witte

“So, let’s review,” says Man 1

“Right,” says Man 2, “we kill her at noon.”

They lean over the high lip of the bridge rail. Straight down to the blue of the stream.

“Not kill,” says Man 1, “not kill.”

“She pushed you to this,” says Man 2.

“Not pushed,” says Man 2, “not pushed.”

The sun like a light bulb. The old-fashioned kind.

“But her lover,” says Man 2, throwing bread at the ducks underneath.

“Don’t,” says Man 1. “Bread is what kills ‘em.”

“Hey,” says Man 2. “Let’s choke her with a sandwich like that California Dreamin’ chick.”

“Urban myth,” says Man 1.

Meanwhile the wind coughing up leaves.

“So, what then,” Man 2 says, gathering up his collar, “I’m cold, and I gave all my bread to the ducks.”

“We’re not budging till we figure this out,” says Man 1.

The night around them pulling down like a shade.

“So, no kill, and no choke,” says Man 2.

“Exactly,” says Man 1, shifting the tired from one leg to the other. “You see that?” he continues, “just look at the progress we’ve made.