November 16, 2020I Want to Date a Man Who’s Like a Dog
confession of a UPS driver
This didn’t begin with dogs, but with a stack
of boxes and the twisting of my knee
between, beneath them, even as they smacked
the pavement, then the doctor’s quick decree:
A contusion (just a bruise). You’ll be mended
in a week or two. My boss agreed
and left me on my route, where dogs friended
me for treats. At first, my knee would tighten
at night until it could not be extended
in the morning without pain, lightened
by ibuprofen. It loosened with every stride
I took, and every box I touched, but heightened
from one day to the next, with the pull and slide
of a torn MCL (the doc was wrong).
I smiled at humans, smothered truth with pride.
I’ve read that dogs can hear a whistled song
from miles away, can smell agony through layers
of flesh. They nosed my knee and used their tongues
to slurp it all away. Those pink conveyors,
wet and unafraid to find something. To feel. To take.
from #69 - Fall 2020