Henry the dog really had me up a tree. You see, I climbed it to avoid his teeth after growing tired of pitching his chew toy around the yard. Life presents all kinds of challenges which require escape routes. “All day long, all day long, Larry,” his father said. Larry was on the verge of trying to throw a strike while having a nervous breakdown which would carry him through adolescents and up a tree. I never knew if he threw more strikes or balls. or if he ever got out of the madhouse. But, back to Henry, a proper bull dog, whose owner was a cop. I managed to find my escape route by breaking off a small branch and tossing it far down the alley. No, I don’t know if Larry ever found a way back down.
How About That! (Charlies Last Thoughts Before Sleep)
Ahhh, so there’s the dancing cow standing on its two hind legs - I had always imagined I would see on the day of my death. She is out there in the cold muddy field underneath a gray tarp which covers the sky and makes the naked trees shiver and the rotted old barn look like a pointillist painting. And there’s that old woman whose open mouth vacantly stares out from behind her one shaky tooth. She is bending over a chubby, barefoot boy who is clumsily eating a Velveeta cheese on white bread sandwich as his pet roach methodically explores the baseboards – looking for crumbs to eat -
before going to sleep.
Bio: Rollo Nye is a poet living in New York. His poetry has recently appeared in minor literature{s} and will soon be published in Avatar Review and The Red River Review.