Saturday, July 30, 2011


Beside me on the ferry, a gaunt young man --
a bottle of corona beer on his t-shirt --
steps from his car to lock the door,
then leans inside and snarls "Get in the back.
I mean it.  Get in the back!" and I'm wondering,
is he speaking that way to a child? (parents seem
so young these days) and then he locks the door,
leaving windows up, and walks away.
Two dogs press faces to the window, watch until
he disappears, then leap into the driver's seat,
but he doubles back and yells at them again,
fury twisting his mouth into his hollow cheeks.
They wait longer this time, until he's really gone,
then jump into the front again. I picture them,
curled together, tucked below the steering wheel,
licking one another for comfort
in the increasingly stale warm air...

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