Heavy

            We were poor, so we butchered chickens.  Mother used a hatchet to lop off their heads.  Afterward, my brother kicked each carcass in the ass, sending the birds caroming down the hill with blood spurting wildly.

That was years ago.

Now Mother’s dead and my brother slow dances in a tuxedo.  He and she are the only couple.  Even in the dim lighting, you can tell his bride is pretty.  My brother is a stock broker.  He’s the one who’s gotten heavy.  He eats well, all kinds of meat.