Harry never understood himself. Doubly confused, his intangible actions led to questions, too many concerns. But he was different, and that was okay by us. Small, stout, stubborn in the haunches, he was hairy (ironic?) with a stubbed tail from the result of a virus. On all fours, Harry trotted, or more skipped, wherever he went. He licked his chops like a spoon of Jif and never gave kisses. Guests were surprised, and disappointed, this kiss-less greeting, but we were grateful especially when we’d gawk out our kitchen window, watching cute little ‘ol Harry do his business, turn around, and gobble back up those scoops of peanut butter. The streets crowded; hot, humid, an air and the sponge of Brahma wrung above it. And there, naked, besmeared in ash, was I, bathing in Thy celestial pool
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