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IVAN HRISTOV

SNICKERS

I met Snickers

outside a front door

in Minnesota.

(Actually,

all dogs in America

are named Snickers

so it'll be hard for you

to picture him,

but that's not really

the most important thing right now.)

Warmed by the feeble winter sun

he brought me

a small rubber ball.

I threw the ball

and Snickers brought it back.

Over and over and over again…

Suddenly I noticed

that somewhere there in the distance

he stopped

and refused to fetch the ball.

Douglas explained to me

that there was an electric fence

to protect Snickers

from the nearby highway.

I felt for him,

my friend

in his invisible prison.

Ivan Hristov

Translated by Angela Rodel