Dog Shit
I fell and my hand went in dog shit and
had it not been dog shit the cool, moist
feel might have been pleasant. But it was dog
shit, and it had cooled considerably in
this shady place of the park.
And I stunned look at my hand in
the cool shit with the grass and shit coming up
between my fingers like
putty.
I stood and looked about,
clumps of the stuff falling to the ground.
I was not alone and I was being laughed at.
And why not. I had shit on my hand.
So I did what I could, rinsing it in a piss-warm
puddle that stood in the sun nearby.
We continued with the day skateboarding, joking
and me holding my hand before me pitifully and
somewhat saddened for not being able to use it.
A leper for a few hours.
And why not.
I had shit on my hand.
There are worse things than
to have dog shit on your hand,
but when it’s a nice day and you have shit on your hand
and you’re a bit restricted in the joy you can have,
it can make you a little sad.
