the wind overturned our trampoline which pinned the wild white pup named Fossil. the storm passed and was our father. our mother dragged a broom behind a small brain. two things that are both cognitive dissonance took root in the dead twin that once bit my arm before going back to eating crayons. one of the children I wasn’t was thought to be unlovable but later succumbed to an adorable Holocaust survivor. are we trash? as the pup relays itself