Dog, Cry, Station

Dog. Dog at the end of life bark like mad, cause fleas, and dirt chips, hanging onto furry fury like it was lights out for everything. Lights out for the world, boy. And dog chase its tail like a bad boy, like a dumb boy, like a Marxist chimpanzee boy. In circles doing laps around the circles, doing circles around the circles and making them spin.

Hey hey, don’t get too far away from them now. Go on, get. But also don’t get so far that we lose track inside of you. Mind what I say and mind just so what concerns your brother-in-law.

Call it all to mind, a cry in the deep in the dark, lurking. The wicked way the steering wheel takes and sinks, dips down along with the rest of the vehicle when there’s a dip in the road. And it’s all contained there. Simplicity.

A trip to the station with just you and the dog and the dips in the road. Seeing the trees lined up all neatly on either side of the road, feeling the breeze come in through the open windows. Listen to the radio but you don’t know Jack because this is a station you haven’t even heard before. It’s just altogether too groovy for anyone to handle at the moment.

You pull into the parking lot of the station and you turn off the station. You turn off the car. It’s dead.

Dog comes out dog, jumps out with tail wagging for new adventure. Bark bark bark. Row row row! Rambunctious dog, boy. And you see a boy sitting on the front step in front of the double doors to the station and boy oh boy, is that boy crying. Crying all wild.

Here, dog. Damn boy.