Call of the Wild

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The pages are fuzzy
And yellow.
How did they get like that?
Do eyeballs press on the words
Until they can’t breath?
It smells old.
Like it’s been in the classroom
Since the dawn of time.
I have a brief image
Of prehistoric students,
Hunched over the book,
Riding their wooly mammoths home from school.
It’s about a dog.
I’m a cat person.
Ugh.
I open it up.
I must read first.
I’m a good reader.
My voice is strong
And loud.
I can see it.
I can see the house.
I can see the dog.
I don’t like the look of him.
God it’s boring.
Then,
He’s stolen,
Beaten,
Broken.
All of it surrounded by words that no one uses
Anymore.
I am taken
To the place
Where a man in a red sweater
Swings a club
And where
A dog has a story.
I’m still a cat person.
But I think I may become
A Jack London person.





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