President of the United States of America By Lillian Tookey
Okay, let me tell you, frog, but dead “outside” is a thing only my cat understands I, only know human things, like the lemon stings or when the lizard runs, I am not politically aware of this garden, the grapefruits fall and I think, “Uh oh, well papa is mad,” “uh oh, daddy’s got a kill” “Pickle! Go outside!” I yelled, all the flies were dropping and fucking their way to the fruit bowl, Pickle’s ears were back, her eyes still like Joshua Trees “Pickle go! Pickle go time,” no Pickle movement Pickle stayed, she was a blank calico, a tobacco spitcat, she knew something about the outside and she bit my legs for the open door, she bit my morning legs I wonder if other children were told to be stronger the pavement is silent and sad and full of a quiet ache the dead frog I barely knew, baking in the sun Pickle was probably telling it, with her worried eyes, “You done good Mr. President, you done good.”
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