The squeaky wheel gets the grease.

That's what's always said. Wheel watched as all of the loud, grinding squeakers around her received fussing, money, time, attention.

Hello? She piped.

Shut up and be a good Wheel, they said back to her.

we run and the gravel crunches beneath my feet– you two are smarter and stay on the road itself, hard springy mud bouncing under your paws. we make strides with leaps and bounds. something scares me suddenly and i whip my head around under the glowing half-moon, scanning the forest with wide eyes until i realize that it’s only the wild turkeys– flying with brusque desperation into the treetops, finding their roosts for the night.

the sky is nothing but every shade of gray.

blue straw, service goose

black elder marion

with an olallie rasp.