Badmeanings

A cold but bright day, the boy and his dad carrying groceries, push up the hill, past the doughnut tree in Nelson, British Columbia. They are headed for the last house on the left at the top of Cedar Street. A late-winter or early-spring hole in February's sock whitens the concrete pavement buckled by frost.
Father following, watching the curve of the boys padded coat, green and blue, listening to the out-breath that pushed each foot forward, downward lifting,
Buried in the small boys breath faint but clear as the smell of rats piss the boys thought, tongue sounds,---fuck.

"Cian"
                    "What"
"What did you just say"
                                "Fuck"

"Um"
"You might not want to use that kind of language"
"Um"
                                                                      "Why"
"The people at daycare may not like it."
                                                                                                    "Why"
"Well some people think that words like fuck are bad words. They might be surprised to hear them coming from a little boy at daycare"

"Dad"
"What"
"Djuo know what I think"
"No.....     what"


"There's no such thing as bad words"      

 "Only bad meanings"


"Fuck"