by Saul Bryant
he's an oof, a joke unto me and you, diseased of misunderstanding
|I zipped my coat halfway, grabbed my keys from their dish, and made way for the side door. He came out from his room as though he'd been listening for the keys to make that familiar noise, "where are you going?" I didn't stop, "to grab a burger, you want anything?" The closer i was to a lie, the faster i was to reply. My words were precisely timed. He looked for an answer as he looked to the wall, "Where at?" Again with precision, "Happy Sack," I was already opening the door. Sad to lie to a puppy, a mut of a puppy, rained on and kicked around. "uhhh happ... ?" and he squinted his eyes as i was shutting the door. You don't use the front door in a situation like this. It's just precedure. I use the front door when getting mail and taking him out with me. Side door for a cigarette, going out, leaving him in, being happy, feeling free, being me. Front door for shameful moments, long nights, babysitting.