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Good Things Happen to Good People I Must Be Bad

By Iulia David

Today was one of those days when I took a nap
as I woke up and all the furniture
has shaped into a poem
and while in the mood I went out with the dog
because what’s more beautiful than well behaved
blank verse walking on a leash on a quiet street –

by the way, doggie knows no word for good
as in this is a really good day and so her body
is always surprising, really, like, when we turned left
and crossed the street to medicate ourselves
on the last drip of sun, she gave me the bulletproof
walk, and me, as I’d just spotted a baby
with the face of a grown up man, I gave her the bomblet pull.
It was the most manly baby ever. I wanted to look.
Then I saw a lost shoe, the shape of a pantof,
as we call it in our language, big size, as if the invisible man,
one-legged, was taking a nap in the middle of the street
and no car could wake him up because everything was just
turning into a poem as the sun was setting and I didn’t even
want him to wake up – the way he was sleeping with his hands
made into a closed book reminded me of you, dad.
I even missed you a bit.

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