I was gonna write a poem for ELO, but it got too angsty, so now it's a Tangsty poem, I guess.

well, it was winter
(dawn, one morning, and i was
eleven. it was saturday)
the hard-slant rays were
cold and golden and they
made blue shadows… darker
than black somehow

i saw my dog lying, sleeping?
no, she was not sleeping
i slid over the grass on my knees
still conscious of my new khaki
pants and touched a flank
with black-gloved hands

i must admit i was little
expecting to see death but a little
curious to see it too—I was so
young then and the glassy eyes
were more beautiful... than painted
marbles, but i could feel the cold
through my glove. so terrible
i screamed

o, i screamed! and my voice
cracked with pain and cold and
puberty and i could hear the footsteps
of my mother on the back deck
(still in her multi-colored curlers, a
magenta nightgown, her glasses on).

and as i looked back at her
i felt her relief that I was not hurt
it was just . . . my . . . dog
how i hated her, then!