When It Shouldn't Be This Warm

They saw the body
When they were eating their bacon

The face down frame
Covered in blue parka
And patches of white

They called the police
The police came
The body disappeared

They finished their breakfast

It was a girl
It was a young girl
It was her stepfather, probably
He said 'No,' but it probably was
And he would go to prison
And things would be normal

They did not know the girl
They did not know the stepfather
They did not know the family

He dumped her where he dumped her
Because a cop pulled him over for a broken taillight
And meanwhile, she was probably in the backseat
Already beginning to decompose
Because he had to wait for her mother to go to sleep
Telling her the girl was at a sleepover
And then sneak her out

He'd been heading for the lake
But when the cop pulled him over
Despite the fact that he only gave him a warning
And was even pretty friendly about it
He panicked and dumped her right in front of their house
Figuring the snow wouldn't melt as soon as it did

A couple more storms comin'
She might not be seen again until April
And by then he'd planned on being long gone

But one warm day is enough to melt snow
And so there she was

That was the story
They read in the newspaper
And ultimately the body
And the story
Had nothing to do with them

Their names weren't even mentioned
And for this they were glad

Somebody, some reporter
Had tried calling about an intervew
But they pretended not to speak English
And so he gave up

It was a small paper he was calling from
And they probably couldn't afford a translator

Nobody cared about the people in the house anyway

Hell, the people in the house didn't even really care
About the people in the house

They went to bed and had no dreams
They woke up and got up and didn't have trouble
With doing any of the above

They made love a week later
Maybe a bit later than they should have
Or perhaps a bit sooner

But it was nice, and fine
And nothing out of the ordinary
And they were relieved
Because that's a marker to indicate normalcy

We have made love
We have had sex
We have fucked

Things are okay again

But then she painted the living room
And he wanted to know why
And she said 'Because'
And he wondered

Then he bought a new car
And she wanted to know why
And he said 'You painted the living room'
And she said 'Okay'
But she wondered

There were two vacations
Planned immediately
And the vacations would happen soon
And there would be little time between them
And a third vacation was even discussed

And they wondered

But nothing was said about the lack of interest they felt
In any movie with violence in it

Nothing was said about the fact that the mail now had to be delivered to their door
Not to the mailbox which was only a few feet from where she was found

Nothing was said about the fact
That neither one of them was eating bacon anymore

And there wasn't any fighting

There wasn't any fighting
Until she opened the doors and the windows

He said it was too soon
To be opening doors and windows

He said it was still cold outside
Whereas she countered that it should be cold outside
But that it was actually unseasonably warm

"I don't care," he said, "It's still winter.  You don't go opening up the doors and windows in the middle of winter."
"But I'm hot," she said.
"Then wear less clothing," he replied.

And somehow she took that to mean something sexual
And yet her response was to walk around in her underwear for a day
As if that could somehow be spiteful to him

And yet it was spiteful
And yet he was warm too
But he pushed through it

At night, she'd be sleeping naked on top of the blankets that covered their bed
While he was underneath all the blankets in pajamas
Sweating like a guilty man in a hothouse
Determined to make winter be what it was supposed to be
When it shouldn't be this warm

Sixteen years from now
They'll separate

Because sometimes it takes sixteen years
To convince yourself
That the thing that's broken you apart
Was not the issue

That the body was not the issue
That the sight of it blooming from the snow
Was not the issue

That the heat isn't hot
That the sex isn't stale
That the living room doesn't need to be painted

They'll give it sixteen years
And call it change

And every once in awhile
After they've remarried
And had many, many more vacations

They'll tell their friends the story of the body
And when their friends say--

'Was that what broke you up?'

They'll shake their heads adamantly and say--

'No, no, no'

No, no, no

'That had nothing to do with it.'