012418

aerial sharks
squirrels learn to hide
cats and dogs move indoors

103017b

the dogs conquered
eagerly and efficiently
no fatalities

102717

First they came for the dog food, and I wasn't worried, because I didn't have a dog. Then they came for the dog treats, and dog toys. I still wasn't concerned. Next they came for the squirrels, but mighty few of us care about squirrels. Then they came for the dog owners, and I was a bit put out, cos my mother owned a dog. They came one last time. I caught two of them sawing through the base of a fire hydrant, right in front of my building. They looked weird, unearthly, and vaguely like hyenas (if hyenas had 8 legs and pink fur).

"Hey," I shouted, "where y'all from?"

"Sirius," the big one replied.

I should've known.

032017

Only the White Meat

If sharks flew they avoided the mutant forest, where phage-ridden former humans vied with giant pitcher plants for the few morsels that entered there. Out of the forest the river ran red with blood, always, and sometimes you could fish out humanovegetal larvae, drowned and spinose. Yes, the country deteriorated rapidly after the gene factory was hit by free-something terrorists during the early days of the Collapse. Things are better now, and you hardly ever see blood in the river. No one enters the forest still, but aeronautical sharks (if they ever existed) are gone. It’s good they’re gone, and it’s good the humans are gone.

No, I don’t call what lives in the forest human. It’s sessile, for one thing, and reproduces by budding. Not human at all. Me? Why I’m no more human than you. Little hardwood sap in my veins maybe, and the rest pure Felis domesticus. No, they’re all gone, or if they’re not, they as good as are.

What happened to the dogs now, I like that too. It’s fitting that they should now be small, shelled, and six-legged. Eight would be better (more to pull off) but I’m not greedy. If there was a god, that god would be a cat. And that cat would be me.




reprint

030617c

http://www.polutexni.com/

My latest poem, which features both dogs and evolution. Polu Texni is one of my favorite low-tech online zines

I read this poem to my local writing group while I was working on it. They liked it better than they have liked any of my other poems.

010517c– And when they do, all heck breaks loose

Pigs flew as cannonballs
dogs and cats as well
when Earth stopped rotating
everything went to Hell

092016b

It Was the Wurst of Times

Carstairs risked a look over his shoulder. The pack was now only a few yards behind him. He put his head down and sprinted. If he could just make it to the car he might get out of this alive. A pine cone went flying and he landed heavily on his side. Some ribs felt broken. "Oh God," he moaned, covering his face with his free hand. Then they were upon him.

*********************************************************************

Sgt Freiday flipped the notebook shut. "Nothing more to see here," he remarked, motioning to the two patrolmen who loaded the corpse into the back of the van. He turned to find himself nose to nose with Smalchick Chomosh, the private detective. He sighed. "What is it this time, Mr. Chomosh?"

Chomosh stared at him expressionlessly for a moment, then pointed with his cane at a small white fleck on the path. "What do you make of that?" he asked.

Freiday squinted. "It's a piece of bread. Left over from a picnic." He looked back at Chomosh in irritation.

Chomosh pursed his lips. "It is a fragment of a bun," he said, "a Sunbeam hot dog bun, to be precise."

*********************************************************************

Three days later, Freiday still had no theory. In desperation, he visited the Sunbeam factory. When he arrived the place seemed deserted. He prowled around, then climbed the fence. He was in old man Sunbeam's office when he heard the baying. He went outside and cocked his head to listen. There it was again. Louder. He walked to the fence and climbed back over. The sound had seemed to come from somewhere out here. As he approached his cruiser he saw some small pale objects in the grass. They moved back and forth restlessly, growling. The light was dim, but they looked like … hot dogs! He reached in his pocket for his keys, but found only a hole in the bottom of the pocket. The baying came again, and the hot dogs surged forwards. He ran back towards the fence, but he never made it.

*********************************************************************

"I have solved the case," Chomosh announced. "The murders were committed by a pack of wild dogs." He unveiled one of his famous who-done-it paintings with a flourish. Sgt. Freidey was shown sprawled on his back. A vicious weiner worried his throat; another had its snout buried in his belly.

The mayor snorted. "Ridiculous! I never sausage nonsense!"

END

First publ. in The Daily Cabal, 2007

031816b

probing the canid mirk

reading “Jonah and the Whale”

on a Nook

090414

dogostrophe

too many games
involving furniture
and the frames of doors
tables, food, and cats
who slept through it all
they say

the rare post about life chez human

This seems to be the season of no news (is it also the season of good news?). The House GOP delegation decided that Al Qaeda wasn't destroying our country fast enough, so they offered to take over the job. Middle-school-art-teacher Spouse likes her students, but one student who seemed in serious trouble last week was back in school on Friday. He threatened to attack another student with a hacksaw, while waving the hacksaw. That's only slightly more threatening than threatening to attack another student with a noodle while waving the noodle. But it's a wee-pon fer crissake! We finally may have a customer for our yellow watermelons. The story so far: volunteer watermelons grew past fry size for the first time in more than 20 years. Big! Beautiful! Plenteous! Yellow as a pale yellow...lemon! Unfortunately, this led to the realization that we don't like yellow watermelons. Neither do most of our friends. One friend had never tried yellow watermelons, and was willing to do so. If he likes them, he gets the rest! I have continued to work on the crustacean trace fossil paper. We do not yet have a complete first draft, and we still don't have a smoking gun...er, shrimp, but we have Venerable Shrimpologist on the case. Worst-case scenario: he confirms our belief that No One Knows! It rained hard long enough to puddle yards & drench cripples [me]. Alas, a day later weed roots are dry as old bones: there ain't no justice! Sadie, Spouse's new dog, likes to toss things around if we go away and don't lock her up. I would always do so, but Spouse-who-trusts-too-much doesn't feel that way. The only thing she has actually eaten that I know of is a plastic grated cheese jar. Biggest news: daughter #1 used TeamViewer to fix Spouse's computer remotely from Finland. This ain't yer Gramma's future. So where's my friggin' jetpack!?

and your little god, too

having received further instructions
Mopsy had always hated being named for
the big bag was lying there
pizza paid with check forged
ordering online not just for cavemen

"Arf," she said

again

don't worry
over the big things
get the frisbee