another in a string of lazy summer afternoons

––that afternoon long ago when the chickens with slit throats

were found hanging by their feet against the peeling, pea-

green entry wall, as the junkyard dog ran in frantic circles

across the floor was reported to the proper authorities.

––nowadays my password’s my name.

my code for the withdrawal of funds is: 54321,

and that bottle of Geritol my grandpappy

laid upon his bedside table in 1951 to "re-vegetate"

his tired blood must surely be empty by now.

we didn’t have a dog.

––we had cats and parakeets and one yellow canary which became

agitated when persons of color came knocking, conflicting with

the racial sensitivities of my parents, hawking the promise

of "Jesus and Paradise Awaiting" informational pamphlets.

––you might ask then: who was that junkyard dog running around

in mad circles as the clueless chickens hung bleeding in the entry

on that sweltering planet a million years from here?–– well,

he responded to the name: "Rusty" and showed-up in the entryway 

during times of turmoil, but we didn’t have a dog.