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meaningless in the margins

Jack Henry

sunday morning
and dexter the cat sleeps
on my back
our snoring mixes together
as frogs go back to bed

she left trances
for the forensics team
an early departure that made no sound

my dreams must have included
a variety of oddities
my head hurts
and it’s not from
lust

the dog ate a ceramic garden troll
and coughs up blood
i’d put her down but it’s not my choice

i move slow
to my place on the back porch
coyotes are playing tonight
but i’ve seen that show before

we witness a blue gray sunrise
buried in hubris borrowed
from pointless transgressions

i know she loves me
i read it in a note

we crawl back to bed
the cat and i
and watch stories
of jesus and his cohorts
on the history channel
the cat cleans his ass
as i contemplate
space and time

the ache in my heart
concedes to the ache in my gut
dexter rides shotgun
as we drive to a diner
he sleeps in the back window
as i make my way in

there are countless old bandits
alone and in pairs
we flirt with the waitresses
and wait for our eggs

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