American Fanatics

THE BACKYARD

T H E B A C K Y A R D A way to keep us in our place. A way to say, not-neighbor, by half. But blood tracks of the half-thing (Yorkshire terrier) torn dragged from Mrs. Yamamoto’s yard this morning into my rough marigold patch evidences: three paws, a prised ribcage, and one small drizzle-lump of fur where the rhinestone collar must have been carried off, over the wall I spent fifteen hundred dollars erecting last year. Such is the genius of empire in the imperial service of wild hunger. Have you ever seen a coyote crossing lawns at  a.m.? All nervy ambition. A feral needle lashing the weeds together, yard to yard, spindly-legged, from Bakman Avenue to Valley Circle, head down, humorless as a Republican mortician soliciting our contributions, plot to plot.  Barresi pages:Layout 1 5/12/10 1:43 PM Page 10 Just as our Purina-fattened morsels are poking their adorable heads out their adorable doggy doors! From my yard I hear Mrs. Yamamoto keening her sixteen-year pet, a little hard of hearing and stiff in the hips, like her, but family. Love’s labor lost. I pretend to remember I’m not listening. I know what’s polite and what isn’t. I wash the blood from my marigolds with a hose but it’s no use— I’ll have to bury the larger parts. Or return them in a cardboard box? The day’s heat raises the black whiff of piracy, my stomach turns, and my neighbor weeps nearly hysterically, having tasted the world raw. I resolve to dig a hole on my side of the wall. My share of the civil thing redeemed unmentioned between us, and besides, we’re not close. I haven’t spoken to Mrs. Yamamoto since my son swung a scythe  Barresi pages:Layout 1 5/12/10 1:43 PM Page 11 on her doorstep in the rain nine months ago, calling Trick or Treat, I’ve come to take your soul! Which he’d already learned at his tender age merited more candy.  Barresi pages:Layout 1 5/12/10 1:43 PM Page 12 ...