the dogcatcher: scene

1
weirding hour -
raining again.

headlights in
the desultory dusk,
questing up fog-laden streets

cold in the cracks of my teeth
shaky fingertips
hurried, arrhythmic steps

spindly trees
flailing and moaning
like flagellants
unable to reach the whip

stoplights sag, sway,
blinking
in confusion -
red, red, red

and the streetlights reflect
in the mirror-wet asphalt
like an eldritch arena

waiting for some
awful battle
to begin -


2
father's waiting at home
with a handgun
nestled in his arms
he murmurs to it
as if to reassure,
but his eyes keep flicking
to the door

his index finger runs
down the barrel,
slowly
outlines the trigger

the crescent moon of his smile
trembles over the
horizon of his lips
and sets again
as if afraid to rise

the rocking-chair creaks
in supplication
and he ignores it


3
my heart is
squirming around
inside my ribcage
like a child held
too tightly,
as i slide the key
into the lock

the door is heavier
than usual,
as if complicit in
some awful crime -
the hinges
squeal

inside,
the shadows flock
like disrupted birds
worrying at one another -
they splay themselves
over the white waste
of the walls
as if furtively,
guiltily,
hiding something -


4
the van parked
down the street
idles,
sighs -

in the back,
a horde of muzzled dogs
whine,
pawing at their snouts
eyes murderous,
sinews taut

in the front seat,
the dogcatcher taps fingers
in an ostinato
on the wheel
one two three four
five
one two three four
five