dead dogs
by Benjamin Mast
dad swears off steak
after our beagle
freezes in fisher’s pond
buddy cracked the ice chasing
a squirrel then was trapped underneath
discovered only after march’s slow thaw
dad’s reaction is nonsensical we know
there is nothing to do
but it feels like justice
and every steakless dinner after we mourn
the wet snout no longer pushing at our hands for scraps
florida is vanishing
and i wonder what i can do
to grieve
my husband says to forget it
“florida is a lost cause anyway” he says
and we are laughing now
unreasonably because this is tragedy
but i tell him not to pull
the ground beef from the freezer
“no red meat” i say
we do a curry instead
and he asks why
i eat teriyaki (chicken) from a drive-thru on marginal way
forgetting there’s pineapple in the sauce
until the cold sores arrive
like barnacles on my cheeks’ insides
each night i gargle salt water
to convince them they’re home
so they can quiet their anger
“do justice” i say
each night to my dixie cup of water
“love mercy” i say
my tongue evades my mouth's red potholes
but the water finds each wincing crevice
it says “i am your god”
my shoes are florida-wet
and i believe
About the Author
Benjamin Mast grew up in a small Mennonite town in Indiana, but has since been more nomadic, living in Chicago, Seoul, Virginia, and Indianapolis, before recently deciding to move to Seattle. Wherever he goes, he seeks good literature, good food, and good volleyball. His writing has most recently been published in Rhubarb Magazine, The Write Launch, Mikrokosmos, and The Phoenix Literary Journal.