Person Dependent
There's a stuffed animal
that sits in the kid's
corner of the coffee shop
closest to my house.
It seems like a dog,
but it's wrapped head
to tail in what appear
to be bandages.
A mummified canine.
I used to think
this oddity was a bizarre
choice for a kid's toy,
but I think I understand it
now.
Behind the screen
of a body cast, he's
a chocolate lab,
or a rusty dachshund,
a rabbit-chasing greyhound,
or your childhood dog Annie.
Its tangential existence
dependent on the brain
that picks him up.
For me, he's actually
a cat, gone undercover
and every time I pass him,
I whisper "Godspeed, brother,
your secret is safe with me."
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