Hyperbole by Jason Szydlik

That girl is a lost doggie sniffing
the thunder-scented sidewalks.
Somebody said she is even sweeter
than the overripe mulberries   
we used to collect from them.
The storm is done barking 
at her now, but the moon  
won’t leave her alone.  

When he raved about champagne,
corn, mashed potatoes, he meant snow.
Everyone knew him   
In Steamboat. Snowmelt chundered
him every spring, and night always
came just as he got sleepy. 
It welcomed him into the dark.
He’ll do it all again. 

Look—some pages have started
Skid’s legs quaking. 
He’s reading Neige et Glace. 
He imagines  
The welcoming cold  
And looks up high. 

Fine. I confess. 
That girl is really just a girl, 
But she loves doggies. 
And no, Chunderboy won’t  
Do it all again,  
But he gets plenty of rest. 
I heard Skid lost  
His copy of Neige et Glace, 
Or maybe  
He gave it away. 
But those mulberries— 
The ones littering those sidewalks—
I swear they really were that sweet.