Since where our yard ends, wilds abound,
We thought it fine to let our hound
Roam as he liked. No neighbors could complain.
Each night, he'd bark and bay and snort
At woodland critters, just for sport,
Then bring home bones of every sort.
You know how that is.
Then one night—silence. All in vain
We searched until the trail went cold.
Our worries lingered unconsoled.
What if he'd met the thing that gobbled Gladys?
Over and above the 126 poem and story acceptances I had in 2019, I am probably proudest of this self-published fantasy story, told in five poems and illustrated by the talented Romanian surrealist, Norbert Somosi. It was published as a book shortly before Christmas. Moments ago, as I write this, a much-admired writer-friend of mine and the first person to buy the book sent me this message:
"I finished reading Hungry Thing and loved every bit of it. I mean really loved it."
