Penn State Altoona's Literary and Visual Arts Journal

At the Flea Market by Heather Myers

The pruned man with heavy eyelids slouched
in his chair, almost dozing, thick
words oozing from his mouth: If a man likes children
he needs a background check.
I don’t know any man who likes children.
His body jiggles in awareness of his surroundings.
He glances towards a man at the counter.
Do you like children?
I don’t.
He leans back in his chair like a sunken walrus.
He reads the newspaper with bulbous hands,
palms like turnips.
Is he fertile?
Was he ever a child himself?
Did his son call him today?

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