That Dog

November 5, 2010
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That dog, he does not know
that he’s the subject of my poem.
A black and tan bobbing figure.
A brown furry paw in the doorway.
A lift of the left hip.
A long lap of the tongue.
A clickety-click of the paw.
A switch of the black, stringy tail.
A collapsing of limbs.
A thumping of ribs.
A fading of the breath into slumber.

A dream, a fat, fat belly
full of treats, a twitching lip,
a groan of remorse, a searing
teapot sound, and then an
explosion of-

A roll of eyes into the sockets.

A rise of the heavy head.
A flinging up of the ear.
A tired breath of the lungs.
A stretch of the bones.
A sharp lift of the left hip.
A long lap of the tongue.
A clickety-click of the paw.
An empty corner.
That dog, he does not know
that he was the subject of my poem.





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