The doll baby in the back dash
might have been sleeping,
but the shepherd was certainly
dead in the gutter
This guy, waiting for the light to change
in the beater in front of mine, must not know
how to handle dolls. When she was tossed back there,
she struck an uncomfortable pose.
Her hand-me-down dress
covered her face. In her nap
she was mooning everyone
with her plastic yellow ass.
Just outside of the drunk Uncle’s Cutlass,
a golden shepherd was beginning to fade from lying in the street.
It might have been hit yesterday
or Friday as some Father raced to get his girl from daycare.
If the dog’s neck worked, it would look up into the rear windshield like me
and crook it’s head at the funny little body pressed against the glass.
The mutt wouldn’t imagine her sleeping. It’s just another toy he can’t have.
The doll baby in the back dash didn’t budge
when the Cutlass floored it on the green.
I wondered if a kid had begged for that dog
until someone beeped their horn at me.
