It doesn’t rain much these days.
And when it’s warm winter, there’s not much snow melting from the mountains.
The rivers run dry, and the lake retreats from the shore.
We drive the lake bed, throwing trash in the back of the truck.
Broken rowboats, old tires, car parts and other junk.
Scrap is scrap.
And that’s when we found the barrel with the body in it.
“He drowned,” said the coroner, ignoring the three bullets.
“But-”
“He drowned,” repeated the coroner.
He said that about every body we brought in.
And, eventually, us, when we wouldn’t stop asking questions.