Wednesday, November 21, 2007

No Thanksgiving


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You used to like Thanksgiving.


He writes the words “I will” in the dust on the back
Window of my SUV. We are standing in the dark end
of the Cardenas Market parking lot drinking and talking
“You are my muse,” he tells me. “And I am yours.”
That’s when he leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

The next day, standing under a hot noon day sun in the
Parking lot outside my work, I write him a check on the bumper of my SUV so he can pay child support. I ask him what he meant with “I will.” “I don’t know, man,” He says looking all hungover. “I was really fucked up.”

So was I, but I remember. I keep writing, say nothing.
Let it drop. He needs to get to the bank before it closes. Later, I get home and get my garbage cans from the street. In the side yard the neighbor’s German Shepherd snarls, clawing the planks from their side of the fence.

I’ve never seen the dog up close, and it’s hard not to imagine its jaws dripping saliva. It’s even harder not
to recognize the hoarse frustration at being close Enough to smell and to hear but not to bite. I wait, I wonder if I am cruel to tease the dog by standing still.

23/11/07 08:08  
Blogger Susan said...

Could you please tell me who to contact for permission to reprint a poem of yours in another publication?


27/11/07 08:45  

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