How young his tear-stained face, crumbling under
the fluorescents. Unbalanced on the stool in front of class.
Dogs have to be trained to fight, conditioned
to violence, like humans. He told us how he trained him
from a puppy. Fed him red meat and gunpowder
to make him mean. Taught him to go for the neck.
After school he strapped weights to a harness and let him
drag them up and down the street until he could pull
twice his weight in iron. He was a hell of a dog—everyone said so.
He was a winner. I think he believed he made that dog invincible.
His body trembled with the weight of it, arms held out
in front of him like he must have held that dog’s body,
boyish voice breaking in the jaws of that memory.
Love makes you a soft target for the world—
I knew that before I knew what love was.
