Mr. Simpson never was too friendly, but he sure did go oat the store
   like a house
on fire with his packa Craven A up his arm like a friggin’ box

en the ferrs at the counter was watchin’ arfter him like hawks,
   en whin one of
them asked me if they could buy me a packa O-Pee-Chee I
   told them I’d take
a dollar’s wortha bologna instead

en whin I set there gnawin’ on the thing like Shep done her
   bone, I saw the tractor
pass by, ’cept it weren’t no tractor, it were a big bulldozer,
   en Merle en Eldon were
talkin’ ’bout the piler money Mr. Simpson made whin
   he sold off the orchard

en whin I thought about Shep pissing on Mr. Simpson’s
   flower bed, I didn’t so much feel like laughin’, I felt like
cryin’ when I thought of Shep, leg all cocked, glassy
   eyes in Mr. Simpson’s headlights, ready to keel over from a
heart attack

— JOHN STILES

(Originally published Christmas, 2001.)