Green Hills Literary Lantern

 

 

Shotgun

 

 

I win an old dog in a

poker-game.

I’m outside the bar now, looking

for it.  Rebecca

the barmaid said it was tied to the

bumper of a green truck

 

It’s dark but I find him

covered in snowflakes

 

Damnedest thing  -  cold, black, &

ugly as shit.  Whimpering

 

But I love him as I touch & rub his

ears; his eyes turn happy-gold

 

Best thing is that when I kiss his

bald head

his nose glows red

 

Good thing on a winter night in

Wisconsin

 

& now I pull him toward my car & he

slides askew as if on a broken sled

 

We make it.  Now he’s sitting shotgun,

drooling & begging for a name

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mike Faran lives in Ventura, CA. He is the author of We Go To A Fire (Penury Press) and has poetry in The Comstock Review, Plainsongs and Slant and forthcoming in Rattle