He walks around the kitchen, touching things and
declaring their sadness—the frying pan, the fly swatter,
an old copy of the town newspaper. GIANT HORDE
OF JELLYFISH FILL ESTUARY—it had something
to do with oxygen levels, as these matters always seem to.
That was a few summers ago. You could dip into the water
and come out covered in pink jelly. Your body would glow
like a search light. That strange man is gone now.
He left with my water filter.
And I have closed the door.