by Steven J. Serafiani

threw my sister’s dog a stick today; sailed halfway cross the leaf riddled yard and landed next to a dying bush. dog bolted as if first stick ever thrown and picking

it up with vigor, she ran three laps round me before dropping it at my spirit plume pruned jean feet. stick had teeth marks and stripped bark on its end. dog wagged its tail for

another winded throw, so, picked it
up and whipped by dead bush
again. dog lost interest and sat in
front of fence, waiting for a squirrel that never came.