THE BUTCHER

By Ben Greenman

From forthcoming collection of stories, as yet untitled

He delivered the liver, delighted. The house wasn’t lived in; the lights were unlighted. He left, his night blighted. He redelivered the liver the next night. Still no lights. He quivered with rage. He felt his age. He lived to deliver. He had no other love. He left, livid. Someone had lied. He died.