Chipped

ELAINE CORDEN

Kindling to be made, a growing mound of delicates aching to be cleaned with my careless hands.

I make lists, beginning always:

1) Make list.

Last week, I made my way to

3) Book apt w/ vet before the day came undone so today I 1) Make list

2) Shower

3) Drink water

4) take the orange leash off its hook and tell delicious lies to my best friend.

I joke with the surly vet.

Could he put a microchip in me? My house keys and my Visa’s pin in me, at least—

I don’t care about my privacy, too tired from constantly searching. Besides, I’m not that interesting.

Trying to diffuse the guilt,

To apologize to the wet trust in the eyes of my friend. I can’t explain to him it’s dark out these days and I don’t want to lose him.

Vet grabs him by the loose skin on his neck and when the chip goes in, it’s passing through a needle.

His eyes widen slightly, then