A Dog's Life and Death

my fingers smell like nail polish
I painted them red
my face is streaked with blue and purple
I like the way they bring out my eyes
my dress is stained and torn
I chose something satiny and tight-fitting
my knees and feet are dirty and bruised
I crawled some of the way
and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.

but there was someone who did
someone who wanted to make sure I got home safe
and make sure I got out of those wet clothes
someone who followed me through the dark alley and dense woods
back to my dark, empty house
picking up my purse and shoes as they fell off my person
he even found my pearl earring
which he fished out of a murky puddle

freak
stalker freak

rings the doorbell
knocks on my door
does both
repeats
pounds on the door
jiggles the doorknob
commences yelling, “open the door!”

i have the bat now
and am ready to open the door
i do
i swing
i hit
i kill


my friend.

His name was Baxter.
I always made fun of him because he had such a typical dog name, you know? Not something you’d expect for a human boy.
He’d act like a dog sometimes, too.
Followed me home, wanted me to keep him. Always happy to see me. Loyal. Loving.
He loved me.
He saw my heart get torn up and stuffed down my own throat.
After defending me the best way he knew how (sockin’ the jerk right in the kisser), and he ran after me.
Good dog.

Baseball was Baxter’s favorite sport.
He gave me that bat when we were seven for my birthday.
I gave it back when we were seventeen at his funeral.

We will never play fetch again.