the wild dogs went roving
through the late decades
of the twentieth century

clomping their jaws
here and there
excavating the hulls
of burnt out riot houses

the dogs
with their wireskin thighs
and long cheeks, doomed
prevented kids from attending school

spat more than you spat
groomed the steel wool which bloomed them

the last bus left town at 6:15pm
everybody was on it,
kids climbed on the back bumper
tossing steaks
into the fog of exhaust
blending dogs and headlights

the adults
were hypnotized by the ticket
in their hand
, how the driver
was not mean

Gus Iversen is the founder of ILOANBooks and the author of several collections of poetry and prose, often with photographs and illustrations. He lives in Brooklyn by way of San Francisco and loves cashews, oceans, laundromats, and mechanical pencils. He has a BA in Creative Writing and consequently works at a veterinary clinic.

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