irma

irma waits by the window

vaguely looking down at her socks

and humming. possibly her

father will come home with a box

of chocolates. possibly

not. father's memory

was never what it once was. shouldn't really drive anymore

either. as if in answer

with a sound like blowing up your

ears

father's jeep crashes

through irma's wall. she says

bad words as several hundred

boxes of her favorite kind

of chocolate fill her bedroom. but she doesn't actually mind