his two right-handed sons bite equally into the legfat of his ambidextrous third.  he photographs all three by closing one eye at a time.  his boys look so real they could be paintings.  his wife makes an odd announcement about dinner.  an announcement that includes

paper plates, her therapist being kind, and the recipe she’s repressed.  

     he thinks on those for a moment.  then on the terrible things he’s sure to reveal.  his palms.  the downward progression of his mother’s push mower.  the scissors he stole to replace the scissors no one used.  the ******* the school bus he’d punched in the back of the head so she wouldn’t see her house burning.  in the back.  of his.