Homemade Clothes

small_cell_lung_ca_zorkun

(Credit: Cafer Zorkun, wikiDoc)

I sew clothes from silk scraps and cotton sheets.

The donators think their contributions go to the third world,

But they go to this one,

Right here.

They go to my three children and me,

After having been through my algae green, foot pedal driven sewing machine.

And I know it’s wrong to lie to them, but ever since I saw the x-ray of Dewey,

My son,

Ever since, I saw the thing, which should not be in his chest,

I have seen everything through cloudy glass.

It makes everything

flow together and it

Blots out all the small things like lying

And stealing.

And if I can steal my boy away from death

I don’t care how expensive the treatment is

And I don’t care

Who has to pay for it.

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37 Dog

My favourite pet would be a dragon. But I do not have a dragon, so I will write about the only pet I have.

Bacon.

Bacon looks very much like this.

Bacon.

This is Bacon. Bacon is a dog. He does not know his age because he does not know how to read a calendar, like I do. And he not as smart as me and therefore he cannot read a clock either like I can. So every time I go to school and tell him that I will be back by two o’clock in the afternoon, he just sits with his tongue lolling looking like Lickitung.

A dragon would fly me to school.  

Bacon is a coward as well. He NEVER chases the neighbor’s cat even though everyone knows that cats and dogs are mortal enemies.

If I had a dragon, it would roast the cat with its dragon fire and eat it whole.

And then Bacon is lazy. He will not even go up the stairs.

A dragon would be too big to get in the house, but if it had stairs big enough, it would run up them at the speed of light.

And that is why I wish for a dragon this Christmas.

‘Aren’t you a bit hard on Bacon,’ he asked after having read his son’s essay.

‘He doesn’t know what I wrote, and even if he did he wouldn’t understand, he’s too stupid.’

The father looked at the essay, then down at bacon and wondered when he stopped believing that animals could understand him.

‘Did you read the last line?’ asked his son.

‘Yes?’

‘I haven’t written any other wish list. It doesn’t have to be Smaug, but it has to be one that looks like.’

‘Smaug, from The Hobbit?’

His son nodded and the father considered if he should tell his son that Smaug died a long time ago and did not leave any children, or if he should just try to make his son believe that middle earth did not exist.

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