The Boy Ran in the Street
The boy ran in the street. The boy ran faster than the breed dog. The boy knew a few dogs. The boy had no feeling against dogs. In fact, he liked dogs, his own, that he felt happy to play with in the yard, his mother’s shrieking at him not to play notwithstanding. The boy knew he was in no danger of cars. The boy knew he was in no danger of his or any other dog. The boy kept his childhood about him as his mother’s shrieks sounded through the neighborhood. There were men. They came to play with his mother’s privacy. Her privacy was her business. His mother got another dog, a small toy one, to go on a second leash along with the boy’s real dog.
Ann Bogle’s writings include short stories, poems, prose poems, letters, journals, literary essays, and short novels. She has written a book of mixed-genre prose (story, aphorism, essay, and diary) called Work On What Has Been Spoiled. Her short stories have appeared in The Quarterly, Fiction International, Gulf Coast, Washington Review, Black Ice, Submodern Fiction, Big Bridge, Minnetonka Review and other journals. She lives in New York.