 |
|
Prince
and me, circa 1977
|
He
was puffy and fluffy
and
rarely barked.
I
was in the car
that
ran over him
the
night he died. Six years old
and
sitting in the backseat
between
my mom and Shirley
as
we headed out for dinner. Louie’s Chinese.
Shirley’s
husband, Harry,
was
the driver. A sweet, adorable man.
A
diabetic whose foot later developed gangrene.
He
felt terrible, of course.
How
do you say
how
you feel,
your
first prince’s yelps
stinging
everything?
© 2015 Jennifer Wagner
