Can dogs remember?
Your scent lingers- so she stays.
Will not leave until every last whaft of wood and moss and musk has dissapated.
Can you imagine? What that feels like?
Waiting, holding to this eternal faith of your return.
Girl olfactory loves you.
Will not leave- until you fade completley from the air.
She has the taste of you.
In the carpet, in the matress, in the blanket, in the woodwork, blood-hound loves you.
In the meantime,
she's been getting to love the stink of me too.
Underfoot. Under-bed. Waiting, snapping, snarling,
Tumness.
Belly rubs and train-whistle cries.
No joke. No story.
The Days of Our Lives.
Locked in tiny tin trailers which now contain the wild beast.
Thank God for super glue and how Justin fixed that door.
Now scratching backdoors, bent and made of cardboard,
I work in my toxic office
for a leg up and a way out. A key to that locked door.
And of course the children ask for our story and wonder where you've gone.
So I tell them
you've been hit by a train.