my inner feral

when we can't start the car we leave the house to meet the neighbours. the retired psychiatrist lives in an old convict hospital next door. in the kitchen we break bread between the shrink and a forest nymph, drinking his wine and listening to her stories. you hold my hand under the table. together we do well to keep them entertained into the afternoon. I could listen to you laugh forever.

the forest nymph asks about my inner feral. her own led her from straight lines in the academy to a lagoon at the end of the world. am I listening to mine?