Rabies

Summer foughtback hard this year.I swore I sawa man blurryin the underbrushlooking througha scopehe'd fashionedwith his fingers.In the opiatedafternoon, the loversfuck unencumbered.Standing fanon high, too hotto walk the dog.The old woman'shome shows signsof a mind slippinginto water.Ants in the sugar bowl,smell of burnt sourdough stretchingin an oven.He tells meto be honestbecause not saying anythingwould be worsethan a flat out lie.Outside a largebug zapper comes to lightafter congressingwith the small body of an arthropod.Soundtrack to the many awfuldreams I had as a child.In truth, I am over this abundance of mirrors.Of always arriving lateto the reading of the will.The dog that bitmy mother the summershe was twelve,was posturingfor a rub on its underside.Invited her inthen unprovokedit attacked.In the middle of a heatwave, one might thinkthere is no such thingas reprieve, but the shellsof slain creatureslitter the asphalt.Excessive sun havingbroken their bodiesin twain, so thatthe something remainingmight escape.What would crackout of me wouldmost likely never return.The schoolyard acrossthe street has just let out,the sweaty boysreturning to their basementsto smoke weed.One boy sits on the curb,catching my eyewhen I walk out for the mail.I could offer hima glass of waterwhile he waits,but I don't.If he frightens meit is only becausehe reminds meof the dog that bit my mother.Heart slenderas a silverfish, teethglistening inthe blurred wavesof afternoon.The doctor had to slidefourteen needlesinto my mother's front.All because she loveda thing that in the endwas scaredof being loved.