Palliations of Early Summer
by Adam Deutsch
This dog’s apprehension
to a faced down palm
is that of the owner. I mean
I’ve been a socialized pet
supplied treats for mistrusting
everyone else on a leash.
Abandoning toy gardening shovels,
I dug a hole with my pawing
tips interrupting space, naturally.
I got up and left for relief, or spoke
before you finished your own wag.
It’s just that scrapes and scars
on my feet have made me feral
again. I claw at what’s recently
packed down around your roots.
Unbleached toilet paper squares
get soaked with peroxide, dabbed
and held on my split up toes.
A dock’s floating concrete opened
me up after a sail. I put blood in the bay.
But my greatest misstep of the last few days
was letting that eggplant keep its skin.
I couldn’t cook through that tough,
so compensated with the use of my teeth.
I wanted it: a rich layer, a giant bruise
and toxins absorbed to protect a flesh,
an elegant Fabergé commissioned to heal.