A fiery blue-green
bolt of lightening
splits my head in half
like a macheted watermelon,
spilling tendrils of my brain—
a zucchini lasagna,
lapped up by all the dogs
in the neighborhood.
My open mouth releases
a praying mantis
who flies out singing:
Besame, Besame mucho,
como si fuera esta noche
la ultima vez, besame,
besame mucho…
The piercing sound
of tequila-fueled trumpets
of a mariachi band
can be heard in the distance.
Stray dogs bark to the music.
Now I can sense
what I’ve missed before:
Dogs are really people—
one rabid mutt elected
President by a pack
of ignorant mongrels
wagging their tails.