the boy intent on crushing his privates with a seesaw.  the same boy who sees you next week to put stars in your belly.  the boy you aren’t when you’re sick of stars.  when you kick your dog for not being red.  when you put your foot in a blue mouth darker than your father’s.  the things your father says in jail about the bear no one helped.  the things he says out of jail that are prison food.  prison food he says is a stretch if you want to grow as a writer.  your dog losing color in a clean midwestern bank after being shot by a trigger sad teller.  your dog a nervous dog with a last name and its dog-like hope to be unheard of.