it gets run over by a van. br you find it at the side of the road br and bury it. br you feel bad about it. br you feel bad personally, br but you feel bad for your daughter br because it was her pet, br and she loved it so. br she used to croon to it br and let it sleep in her bed. br you write a poem about it. br you call it a poem for your daughter, br about the dog getting run over by a van br and how you looked after it, br took it out into the woods br and buried it deep, deep, br and that poem turns out so good br you're almost glad the little dog br was run over, or else you'd never br have written that good poem. br then you sit down to write br a poem about writing a poem br about the death of that dog, br but while you're writing you br hear a woman scream br your name, your first name, br both syllables, br and your heart stops. br after a minute, you continue writing. br she screams again. br you wonder how long this can go on.