Gemotions

He gripped the broom handle so hard his knuckles whitened. The fifth time this week. He'd tried everything. Yelling. Kindly talking. Even, shamefully, a squirt gun. Buster, oblivious, wagged his tail, delighted by the game. Each time the dog bounded onto his property, he felt the same internal collapse. He had wanted to repaint the fence, plant some rose bushes, and then... but each intrusion made him feel unable to move, unable to shift. He felt his plans, and the life he wanted to create, slowly dissolve.