She looked at the neighbors and the mayhem ensuing in the mudpie their backyard had become.
“Fools. Somebody should tell them that everything referenced in the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ is a bird.”
Her wife reached around her from behind. Snuggled in tightly. Chin nestled into the space between shoulder and neck.
The raucousness next door had drawn a crowd.
“Let them find out on their own,” her wife said. “It’ll be a better story.”
Nicanor Abbott 