An Apple a Day

An apple a day.

An afternoon under the persimmon tree.

Two whole days without speaking.

And I wonder why 

I’m so fucked up.

My dog won’t stop swallowing things

he finds on the ground.

An orange peel,

a shoelace,

a shriveled up lizard carcass.

Once, he swallowed a baby potato whole

and almost saw God.

I can’t afford all these visits to the vet,

so you can see how his behavior 

is becoming problematic.

The woman at the shelter

said he is “half Jack Russel,”

half “I’m not sure. Chihuahua maybe”

She said Jack Russels are an “intelligent breed.”

But Frankie is different.

Frankie is dumb as rocks.

He barks at the front door,

only when no one is there.

He devours everything.

A family-sized pack of oreos (double-stuffed),

a can of baked beans, 

my dirty underwear.

He’s lazy and doesn’t shake or roll over 

for anyone but me.

But I love Frankie 

with every piece of my broken heart.

I would take a bullet for that dog.