She cups his lung and he squeezes out a breath, dragging, scraping, draining a way through and out. He coughs. Grey clouds. Yellow moon. Sulphur pools. The rooster carries his collarbone to hang in the sky. He inhales his last, bonfire, crackle and spit. An ashtray collects the ash. His smoke circles, his grey lips smile, and he’s ready to take his first step.
By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.