Shame Cell

You remember the game we played. The yellow yard, the outboard motor, the piles of rebar. You remember the damp masks we wore when we crossed the clothes on the line. The crying doves, the kidney-shaped watering can, the place where we buried the rabbit when its fear settled into its flesh and brought it into the cold. You remember the taste of the pennies we found in a jar under his tools and his ashtrays.