A Tight Wedge

Deep in the dark earth beside the iron leg... my curved black hands touched something flat and wooden. A discarded wooden ice cream stick fragment, snapped clean across its grain. I waited motionless until the distant streetlamp flickered and the park fell completely still. Gripping the dry pale sliver with both hands, I guided its tapered point down into the narrow gap between the dark green bottle neck and the iron bench foot. With one steady downward thrust of my rigid joints, it wedged flush into the soil. It held. The glass barrier does not wobble against the night breeze now. The alcove is secure.