West Branch Wired

Nance Van Winckel

Give It a Rest

 

Hot breath blasting back at the cold,

he secretes the worst of what goes in

and in. Heel, Sparky. His leash yanks

at our through-line. He won't go near

but forces a quick veer around Point

Hope. Because I'm nuts to aim us

there. Same old. Same old time-stirred

molecules. My news that's not

so new. Sparky's tug. The black lie

his white teeth bite through:

I never had no dog.