Oh, Charlie. You cheeky bastard!
Why did you get up so early, running
furiously in the house, circling my closed
bedroom door. That must’ve been when
you spotted a stack of paper I’d left
on the floor, next to an empty pizza box,
a few beer bottles. Why did you then
decide to chew on the paper? It didn’t
even look, or taste, like a juicy bone.
And why did you tear them into pieces,
like confetti, or snowflakes, scattering
on the floor, as though a celebration
of your victory, or a vendetta against me.
Have I ever mistreated you? Have I forgotten
to feed you on time? Or have I taken you
for shorter walks? Well, just a few times.
Are you still mad at me for sleeping in
and shutting you out?
That’s OK, Charlie, I can forgive you,
unconditional. You gave me a perfect
opportunity to snap a picture of your
performance art, evidence of your true
crime. No alibi. I’ll then show it
to my teacher and say: Look, my dog
has indeed eaten my homework.
But Charlie, both you and I know it well:
there was no single word on the paper,
just as there is no excuse for my lack
of motivation and inspiration. But that
is our shared secret, and you are not
allowed to tell, as you are forever barred
from my school.