SAL BARDO

The Canine Instinct to Disappear

For John Stephen Ferrari (1975-2001)

They found your pick-up in the Nevada desert
– inside, a rosary, The Old Man and the Sea,      
& a book of your poetry. 
I always wanted to be the type of guy 
who reads Fitzgerald & Hemingway, 
like my father in his twilight. 
I knew you in yours, in hindsight, 
the sun setting prematurely. 
Were you born early, like me? 
We could have been brothers – 
olive skin, Roman bridge, lean frame. 
Only your body ink implied a higher threshold for pain
– one that would permit such a bloody exit. 
What is this masculine urge to self-immolate?
They found your dog, chained & emaciated
but we were too green to see the red flags, 
too young to understand 
that indifference is a premonition, 
a suspension of empathy, 
doom by brain chemistry. 
Catholic doctrine decreed 
that you get no proper burial, 
just this arid resting place 
(your memory, erased) 
in the vast plain between 
an open door & the sky – 

Sal Bardo is a Los Angeles-based poet, journalist, and award-winning filmmaker. His writing has appeared in Rolling Stone, Billboard, The Village Voice, and Slant Magazine, among others. Sal began writing poetry as a teen and won several awards for his early work, including a contest judged by queer folk icon Ani DiFranco. Both his writing and films often reflect on themes of queerness and memory.