Bill Alton

I have a couple of poems appearing in Gloom Cupboard. You can find it at http://www.gloomcupboard.com/. Pay a visit. Write the editor and let them know what you think. Write to me at billalton@msn.com. I welcome all comments.

Some of you may have seen this but I thought I’d recycle it for old time’s sake.

Putting Down the Dog

I was a sad child. No reason. Just a perverse attraction to suffering. Like when our dog was sick. I was sad for the dog. I didn’t know the dog, I was too young, but I was sad. It was sick and I was sad.
There’s a fight in her. A growl and yellow teeth. Black gums. She lays her ears back. Dad kicks her in the ribs. The fight slides away.
Cracks split the dashboard. Stuffing pushes through the sharp lips. It’s not a long drive. There are no long drives here. It takes forever.
Red and black walls climb up from sagebrush and thistles. I’m tall now, filled up with the desert.
Bullets throw the dog out in pieces and spots, blood and bone and brain.
Dad punches me in the mouth.
Everything dies, boy. Remember that.

This one’s early. Leaving tomorrow to go camping. Enjoy.

A Series of Poor Choices

You buy her lunch because you don’t want her to walk away. You want to watch her chew and talk with her mouthful. You want to see the way her nostrils flare when she bites a sandwich. You want all of these things so you buy her lunch and you’re scared she’s going to walk away so you go for it. You lunge across the table and land your lips on her chin right before she plants her knuckles in your ear. You fall and people stare and she leaves. She’s gone. Amazing. No blood. Maybe that comes later when you apologize.