Chris Dolan
Slushy Pie
this morning it snowed
and I thought of you
across town, lingering
on the path behind
our neighborhood where
wild-seeming dogs
herded themselves into packs
cocksure in their number
like you and I rushing
into a mortgage
or that marathon
we never trained for
or like the snowflakes
counting on each other
to insulate against dawn
scraping the car becomes therapeutic
removing something
without destroying it
I turn onto our street and stop
using both arms, I gather the snow
from the roof of the car and plop it
onto yours
~
My Life Goes Ta-Da
My life feels like pulling your boots off,
and the socks go with them.
Once, my socks pulled off while
you snuck around the corner,
and I pelted you with the left.
Eyes glittering and feral
as you closed the distance.
You were like a magic trick.
It worked when I believed.
Misdirection from the hallway,
and I’m left wondering if you
were ever fully here.
I like to believe.
Just last week I freed a sock
from the cushions’ depths.
I held it up like a rabbit
dangling from its ears.
Chris Dolan is the founding editor of One Fall Review. He is angry about the nitrate levels in Iowa’s drinking water. Chris’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Strange Horizons, Maudlin House, The Bowery Review, and others.
