The monster has grown dim.
You keep riding it over the
wilderness as your ride keeps
coughing up lukewarm charcoal.
You’d like to tell it to get lost. But
even a dying monster knows the
way back home. Yes, it has home.
You can pretend all you want that
you don’t. Tickle it under its grizzled
chin, lighten up on the kidney kicks,
drop that gnarled whip down upon
the next floating cotton curd. Eat
your pride. It’s not your journey
anymore. It’s your loyal companion’s.
