Brief Encounter

My dog is a classic ... sissy

Poodle, big poodle, all poodle

Love, play and licks, lotsa licks

Few days ago, she bounded out

Found 3 construction guys next door

They played with her and I walked out to chat

After a few minutes two guys left

A husky, bearded red-head who hadn’t said a word

Stayed and continued to stare, glare? – at me

But now, he began to tell me a story – his story

About a dog – his brother’s, a friend’s, maybe a figment

Can’t recall

I was mesmerized by his ferocious absorption

An overwhelming desire to project … intimidation

To be feared

Story - the huge German Shepard ran the fence line

Like a knight templar guarding the castle

To the death for death

Taking a turn to dive into a pool, save a drowning child

Then back to being feared and fearsome, a real killer of a pup

The story, not long, was emphatically powered

by the teller’s countenance

animating more with each thought

As though it were he who was

Morphing into a man-wolf of self

Did I see drool dripping from his canines

Probably my imagination, but imagine I did,

And the teller had made his point,

Achieved his result

Transformed from some guy into Mr. Bad Motherfucker

I desired to be that for many years

Always blamed it on my dad

But, once I told one story it was all ways on me

The teller owns the story, the narrative

The perception

Time changes, evolves, devolves perception

Perspectives

But never ownership

So, do we choose our narrative

Is it dictated by overwhelming psychology

Do we simply interpret what society writes

For our pre-epitaph

When is it time to kill the messenger … teller

Re-write, re-frame, re-name the message

Or just ride the horse you rode in on

Tell your narrative wisely … if you can