I imagine myself in a backyard under the moon and spread thin in a lawn chair with sunglasses and a cocktail and an elephant handing me peanuts with his trunk. I should be worried about much larger matters. Maybe I should even be more friendly. More warm and welcoming. I used to love to offer fresh baked cookies and a veggie spread to my guests but these days with the state of my house there’s no guests. Words out my mouth aren’t as smooth as my fantasies of peanuts and elephants. And whose would it be? The neighbors hopefully. I’m dreadfully irresponsible. It would be no good for me to have that responsibility. But responsibility is not part of the fantasy. Just the trunk and peanuts mostly. When he comes home he brings me a fancy bagged lunch and watches me eat it until I hand over the halves I can’t fit in my belly. Then we go for a walk and talk about how terrible it is that they locked those poor children in cages. We go silent after that. Then he’s off and I’m off. In separate corners of our minds.