A dog chained to a tree. A bowl of food overflowing. Dirt dug into. Bones buried.

A yellow light shines on the front porch. Sticky fly traps hang from the ceiling inside. A pot of cold coffee sits on a countertop.

Autumn is coming, she said. Soon, you’ll be raking leaves. Putting the mower away for the year. Getting ready for winter. She poured him a cup of coffee and placed it in the microwave.

Yes, he told her. I know my responsibilities. He lit a Marlboro.

I wish you wouldn’t smoke in the house. I’ve told you that for thirty-five years now, she laughed. You’d think you would listen. The bell on the microwave sounded. She opened it and shook her head as she grabbed the hot cup surrounded by brown gravy stains, orange spaghetti sauce, and crusted bits of mashed potatoes. Am I the only one that cleans around here? She looked at her husband as she placed the coffee in front of him. And, these fly strips need to be replaced. Disgusting.

He took a drink and put his cup down. What are you yelling about? He asked. Always something. Something needs cleaned? Clean it. I’d just as soon leave it the way it is.

Who washes your clothes? Does the dishes? Cooks your meals?

I know you do, he said. And I mow and rake and shovel snow. I take care of the dog. Which reminds me. He needs dog food. Can you get him some? He likes the canned kind. Started him on a new diet.

She turned away from him and stared out the window into darkness. The old man came up behind her and kissed the back of her thick neck. 

I’ll see you this evening, he said.

She stood there quietly. Waiting for the door to shut.