Early to rise,
like all good
incarcerated men.
I’m on maintenance
drugs for life.
One year ago
I was in jail.
Three years ago
dementia wore
my old man down
to his last breath.
Two days
later a close friend
hung himself.
The calculus
doesn’t matter.
Two white hounds
go about stray business
beyond the powerline.
Animal Control sets a trap
and then returns
to Instagram.
The dogs steal the bait
and drag it
in the woods,
some species
of Lebanese
gas station meat.
The brother
cocks his head at me.
I’m glad I’m not in jail.
His sister says
we’ve eaten worse.
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