The Dogs Are in the Enclosed Pool Area. Garage Side Door Is Open. June 25, 2007 One On the day they found you, Disneyland shut down It’s a Small World, but only the music and the lights. People watched, stunned, the doll children dance to the hum of their own motors and splashing water, lit only by the faint, red exit sign. So popular, extra line-holding ropes were flown in from Hong Kong. Cast members have been told to contravene. Sometimes they answer, “We were closed that day.” Two On the day they found you, a teenager across the street had written on my car, SO MATERIAL A DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE, NOT WHAT ILLS ARE SUFFERED, BUT WHAT KIND OF MAN SUFFERS THEM. The milkman said, “I heard they’re gonna Photoshop him out of the tapes, just like the old logo.” I said, “I don’t think that’s funny.” He said, “It is. You want this milk or not?” I sat on the front step and drank the full bottle, watching The Price Is Right through the neighbors’ window. I haven’t mentioned the graffiti yet. Three On the day they found you, fat weathermen in no less than nine major cities forewent their presentations altogether to perform Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw a capella. Each insists it dawned on him to do so at the moment, but was not surprised about the others. Only one anchor, in Cincinnati, tried to stop him. She’s been graciously transferred to a mailroom at a partner station. I read on Wikipedia that Naxos was compiling an album, but I can’t find that anymore. It might have been a prank. Four On the day they found you, my football coach was voiceless. Having tried in vain to draw some Xs on the chalkboard, he put down the chalk and watched us breathe. I thought I saw him mouth, “I’m sorry.” Finally the quarterback stood up, picked up the chalk, and scribbled integral formulas. First the basic ones from college, then some tougher ones. He’d fill the board and quickly smear it with his arm and start again, until the board was only a large, white, dusty rectangle. Five On the day they found you, priests gave their flocks choke holds and the tooth fairy gave my niece No Way Out 2006. She told me that she would be a wrestler when she grew up. I didn’t tell her it had been the day I’d finally stopped wanting to grow up and be a wrestler, but Chris, I did give her a suplex and locked her leg until she tapped, almost in tears from laughter. Six On the day they found you, I couldn’t even think of anyone to call, so I watched some matches online. They’d Photoshopped you out, just like the old logo, so HHH writhed in your invisible arms, and when he finally tapped, they played your music and the crowd around the empty ring chanted bleeps. The title is a text message Chris Benoit sent a neighbor shortly before his death. The poem is an elergy where an elegy is not possible. Originally published in Sorry for Snake 4. home