Supine
By Gene Aronowitz
I watched freeze-
framed shadows
through narrow
bars. Light from the bright hallway
illuminated the figure
of a dog
at the end of
my crib,
ready to bite, I thought, if
I was bad. Fat,
too heavy
to stand by myself, I
could only lie
supine like a huge
turtle I saw
on its shell, on the edge
of a super-highway. It would have taken
at least a hundred
yards to slow down, ease over, leave
the car, as if
abandoned,
then walk back
on that treacherous road
and risk
a bite, turning it over.
I did not stop.
