my gluten-intolerant friend taught me this.

guess what gang? when you're
super drunk, yo sangwitch don't
need no fuckin bread.

"Aww. Now that's too bad."

"Your boy is handsome."
"You kiddin me ?  He's gorgeous."
His pit is in tact

with clipped ears, something
I don't normally like, but
this wasn't a hack job.

"And how bout your girl ?"
he says, appraising Siouxsie.
She's a tangle of

leaves, stink, grass, and curls.
"I guess she's alright" I say.
He assesses me.

"Yeah, yeah, I feel ya.
But you ?  You're lookin pretty
damn sweet.  You married ?"

come here, let's do a quick pony

"you look so pretty
with your hair tied back" i say
in my mother's voice

"I didn't want to tell you," he said.

she lie there, so still,
with no twitch in her paws, nor
quiver in her lips

i've seen my own cats
dream -- it's full of chatters and
fluttering eye lids --

she had none of this,
because the cruel drop from
the bridge had killed her.

we went to a farm

"how are you, Turkey ?"
her voice is low and husky.
she stoops down next to

the ugly white bird
and traces her nail in the
seam where dirt meets grass.