Snack Shack

"FUCKDOG": The Poem "one fuckdog, please.” a plea from a child with a bruised knee. he holds out his quarters, as polite as can be, to buy a fuckdog is to be charged more, to buy a fuckdog is to open a brand new door. f-u-c-k, in ketchup as ink, his eyes refusing to take even a blink, a bun gets split open in two, and now the world smells different when it’s handed to you. he takes his fuckdog. doesn’t look back at the stand, just holds it like treasure too heavy for his hand. his bruised knee feels light now, as if the precious fuckdog healed him somehow.