the day my dog died

i left the office a half day early
and gave a shitty alibi to my boss
that i wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t
concentrate on my calls. and it was true,
the last part at least.

this was the death of a dog of most high :

a dog who went licking my butt crack
just as when i was about to come
when me and my wife was doing it
one night… a nasty dog who ripped
my velvet underground book and took
a crap on our bed among other things…

— once at home and in our room and chewing on a
milky way and sipping avocado shake — i turned on my
laptop and tried to type poesy about my dog
as tears and memories recalled
made a mess and got the better of me.

and i thought how we ended up doing time in this
mideastern country.
and i thought how a marriage can go so bad for six years
without talking about it.
and i thought about my alibi, how easy it was to make
my oic believed me.
and i thought of my colleagues, clueless
on why i went home.
and i thought of my employer who for five months now
had been ripping us off with our sales and incentives not to mention
being underpaid and overworked.

shit happens and i bet there’s more comin’
but i’m just glad the fuckers always makes the mistake
of not deducting our absences from our salary
every pay day.


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