Tuesday, February 7, 2012

That Bone

You've been lickin' that bone for weeks now.
No, months.
Wait a second, make that a year.

How your teeth aren't cracked
or worn down to little nubbins
is beyond me.

What could you see in that bone?

It must taste like...
Every time you sit down to chomp on it.
Not chocolate bone.
Not sausage bone.
Not pizza bone or crepe bone or tabouli bone.

Just bone.

And I don't see the
fun in that.

I shoved peanut butter
in there once.
And that made you happy.
Happy enough.
But what you really wanted
was to aggressively lick away
the non-bone center
so you could get back to
lovin' the bone.
In its purest form.

I lifted it to my nose once.
Maybe I'm missing something.
Maybe it smells like heaven
or the top of a baby's head.
Maybe that's why you
can't get enough of it.

But it smelled like bone.

You run through the house
Where is my bone?!
Looking for it
Where'd that dang bone go?!
I try to distract you
Is it under this couch?
with something squeaky perhaps
Yeah, I hear that, but have you seen my bone?
But you're not interested
Oh, Booooone! Yooooo-hooo!
And I start to feel a little guilty
Is it on the bed? It smells like it's been here.
It's sitting on top of the refrigerator
Oh, shit. I'm really starting to panic here.
I reach up for it
Where is it?! Oh, God! Where is my BONE?!
And let it clop to the floor
Oh my God! My bone! Oh! Thank you! Thank you!

Away you run
to the furthest corner of the house
Your cave spot
Admiring your kill
And the impeccable job you did
in removing its pelt.

Do you remember nothing?

No comments:

Post a Comment