I woke up in the thunder, remembering when the shitstorm broke over my dog killing your new woman’s kitten, or so she said though no one was home at the time and it was her word against the dog’s, as her wheedling rat whine proclaimed her own Weimaraner’s yellow snake-eyed innocence. Our dog now my dog hung her head like a dead flower. Rain hit the windows hard and she made you buy a very expensive parrot who relentlessly paced clack KLACK clack skitter his claws like lunatic castanets rattling on the hardwood floor when I came with the baby for those few nervous visits because we were adults,
and cocking his sly slit eye at me, shat on the bookcase but I didn’t mind keeping the dog because I loved her more than you and I knew which bitch was the killer.
But I do wonder why life made up its mind without thinking always to be that way rip wrapping gifts, all the candy in a hard concrete shell no bat is going to break, all my good dogs crying where someone else kicked them and some poor kitten dying for a drama queen and acrimony and accusation exploding like favors from a minor imp’s piñata every time standing under it blindfolded asked to explain what I don’t know a damn thing about. All to get what rots my teeth chewing up a punchline of sticky blame in the whole lame artificially sweetened standup act and leaving after leaving in the night without a word, as I wake up and its raining hard on another empty morning to peel back off a stack of bloodstained morning killers wagging tails belly up staring snakeblink yellow eyes, ad infinitum.
Victoria's prompt: Stream of Consciousness
Image: Feliz Cinco de Mayo by garland cannon, on flick'r