The man who walked to the end of the sidewalk
was looking for a dog–
a dog trailing a chain leash with a red imitation
leather handle, and he found
instead a clump of blue
striped feathers scattered
near the ditch, the body
not unlike that of a
cloud exploding across the horizon
and scattering itself into lines
of fingers like unraveled cassette tapes
–fingers with no knuckles
–small crooked lines
–spaghetti with no sauce
–man with no dog.
–Shaun Perkins
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 