Frenchman Flat

Do I wake or dream? Another one – Life is a bowl of cherries. One more – Not with a whimper, but with a bloody big bomb. The house is ply-struts and particle composite. Mum is cardboard, but dad and my little sister are manikins, and my older brother is a painted figure of a younger brother’s imagination. My dog is a real dog chained to a bolted stake. I wonder why my cardboard and plastic family have a real dog? Nevada is hot, not like my prairie house, just a little house, like this one, yet here I am adopted, and in the desert. Mother is at the sink washing cherries, naturally, Father is at the kitchen table smoking his pipe, naturally. Little sister is playing with dolls on the floor melting in the heat. Big brother is starting to singe at the corners. The dog is listlessly sleeping. A clock on the mantle is clacking loudly, not telling the time but counting downwards. Another one – Goggles on now please. Another one - This is not a drill. There’s a blinding light on the horizon. Will I awake in time? I miss my obliterated folks already. Did they really sacrifice a dog to see if an A-bomb could kill it?