Ghosts II:

Tori sings now of her gun, 3:41
and the bathtub whispers his name.
His thoughts fixed on the dog Mac;
Macphearsome; the rooster Big Foot,
and a boy. At ten, like most boys
in that place (girls to) he held sway
over a flock of chickens for the 4-hs -
where now are the health,
heart, hands and what
is the fourth? Ah yes, head -
we know where that is; in the future,
not here where it is 3:41.

Mac - half-shepard, half-husky,
with a penchant for chicken's blood, never
killing, only wounding, Bones the boy
protected the dog; carrying the victims
back to the coop, scolding the perpetrator.
Only seeing an endless stream of bird wings
scared his parents bought Big Foot. Half
Bantam for crowing power, half Bard-Rock
for viciousness, it was a failure.

These three, rooster, dog, and boy -
inseparable with untold sole - soul -
hardening hours chasing each other
through sundried hay fields in games
of tag. Sometimes one head,
sometimes another, popping
above the waving silk-dry stalks.
Sometimes a howl, a laugh, a squawk,
as one found the others.

Game ended with the blaring trumpet
calling him back to reality, Bones's
not yet truly crippled, walked with a dog
beside - a rooster perched, preening,
on Mac's head. A year later - 11 years old
vacationing on western shores - a father
called a boy - the dog fallen off the porch; hung
himself and the rooster? Threw himself
in front of a car. The boy?

Bones still doubts.

_{(AF :: 12-21-2009)}