Mordicai Gerstein - Dear Hot Dog

The art in this book was created with acrylics on paper. Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-0-8109-9732-5 Text and illustrations copyright 2011 Mordicai Gerstein
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contact specialmarkets@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
www.abramsbooks.com For Daisy and Hugh, with love.
M. G.

All night
dozing in your holder
you wait for me.
I give you toothpaste
for breakfast,
mint,
your favorite flavor.
Then you go to work
in the foamy, pink
cave of my mouth,
scouring and scrubbing,
gargling your little song;
shreds of carrot,
pebbles of peanut,
cracker crumbs
hiding in cracks
all washed away.
I rinse you off, and
back in your holder
you sigh and dry.
As my day begins,
you go back
to sleep. We go everywhere
together. You carry my treasures
for me. When I find grass
on your knees and
sand in your pockets,
I know where Ive been.

We go everywhere together
except
the washing machine. Dont let them
put me in there!
you beg. Or at least
come with me! But all I can do
is watch you go round
and round
in the little window,
tumbling in the suds,
like me
when Im caught
in an ocean wave. I hear your buttons
clicking in
the spinning dryer. You emerge, limp
and lifeless,
till I slip my legs
inside you. Youre alive again! Eager
for our next
adventure!

Toes: Weve become strangers
this winter.

I almost never
see you. Muffled in your
thick, red socks
I cant hear what youre
saying. We used to be close,
whispering together
under the covers,
telling each other stories. Now I see you
in the bath
sometimes, looking old
and wrinkled. This summer
Ill kick off my shoes
and get to know
you again. You love warm sand
and playing tag with
the icy, lacy, racing
surf,
and digging
in the wet
for crabs
or clams.

Toes! I miss you.

I never stop
to think about socks,
and if I get them
for a birthday present
from Aunt Adi,
Im disappointed. You cant play
with socks.
But now,
with wind rattling
the icy windows,
putting on these
soft, thick, red ones
makes me happy
all day. You sleep under my bed,
yawning at dawn
when I wake you. You swallow my feet
for breakfast. You love to run
and though Im fast
you always
want to run faster
and faster.

Do you wish I were
a horse? Do you want to be
horseshoes
when you grow up?

My cup gives
a shape to
shapeless milk
and orange juice
a cup shape. It puts a handle
on them,
so I can lift them
and pour them
into me. Thanks, cup. You squat on the table
with your big mouth
wide-open
full of nothing
but light. You look up begging,
and I let loose
an avalanche
of crunchy flakes
crashing down
to fill you. You gurgle happily
as I pour in milk
and introduce
my spoon.

Weve met, you say. The spoon and I
have fallen in love,
and after breakfast
were running away!

Paper and sticks,
with a long tail of rags,
I hold you up by your string,
then turn and run,
and let you go,
run faster till I feel you
pull. Pull!
I turn to see you in the sky,
your head waving back and forth;
youve come alive!
Spinning the string off the reel,
sliding away from me into the air. Youve come alive! Flying higher and higher,
diving
and rising till youre
tinier and farther
than the pale
daytime moon. And, when the string
is all the way out
and I pull at you,
now just a speck,
its like tugging
on the sky. Air is everywhere.

Why cant I see it? The sky is made of air. Is air blue? Air smells like roses
sometimes,
or fresh-cut grass;
gasoline or rain
or skunk. Birds swim in it and so
do butterflies, bees, bats,
and jumbo jets full of people
eating snacks from seat trays. Swimming in air is called
flying. Why cant I do it? Wind is air thats
going somewhere;
it musses your hair,
and whistles in your ears. It tears leaves off trees
and blows them away.

Sometimes,
it blows the trees away
and houses too,
and whips the seas
into foamy mountains
that collapse and crash,
hissing up the sand. You cant see air,
only what it does. It has no color or shape
unless you push
it into a balloon,
or blow a soap bubble. Air. Take a
deeeeeeeeep
breath.

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