The sun is coming down hard, the dog sleeps in the shadow
on the terrace. I sit indoors and try to play the mandolin.
Sweaty palms, no good. The dog comes to the doorway,
barks. I put the mandolin on a chair, dog goes back to sleep.
The winter had been long, I had looked forward to summer,
but this was too much. We, the dog and I, used to go to
the beach, but dogs aren’t allowed there anymore and
I’m too f**king old. I pick up the mandolin, smash it against
the living room wall, a picture of me in uniform falls down,
broken glass everywhere. “Now, see what you have done.”
I shout to the dog, but the old cur doesn’t bat an eyelid.
