Lust in the Heart for Rose the Dog and Jimmy Carter

grass (twice in the morning walking my daughter to school and twice in the afternoon walking her home)

that with so many other sources of nectar to choose instead spent all day mining down through a shaft the sweet inside the dark of a discarded soda can.

L u s t i n t h e H e a r t f o r R o s e t h e D o g a n d J i m m y C a r t e r

Don’t wander the produce aisles Jimmy, during Indian summer when you’ll be tempted to examine too many smooth browned arms and legs during this last week of sundresses, or linger too long in the scent suspended over bins of McIntosh – and you might try going to the grocery store in sweaty blaze orange and hunting boots trailing mud across the fresh polish, your hands and cheeks etched by blackberry bramble. But Jimmy, I’m somehow saved by glancing back at my Lab girlfriend’s sad devoted eyes through the driver’s side window, and by the nagging worry that someone might pry the truck door open or smash the glass and take her