Thursday, December 4, 2014

The Dog Still Likes Me

This poem is spun off of Irene's Eugenia Sings A Song. Go there to see the original rough copy.

The Dog Still Likes Me

Things don’t go my way
at least not very often.

You move much too fast
for me at this point
in my raggedy andy
days. I’ve lost buttons
over this sloppy
old mess of mossy
blue stones and white slobbering
mouths and lolling tongues.

The dog swipes my face
no matter what’s next on tap
and it’s quite drunk out.

December 4, 2014 11:32 PM


  1. I fear that dogs remain a subject that is beyond my ability to express my feelings. I'm sure you understand why.

    1. Oh yes, I do, Tom. I do. Those moments stack up if you have dedicated your life to relationships with the four footed. I can list mine. There have been many "best cats in the world" and I am currently working on a relationship with the "best dog in the world".

    2. And no. They are not all "the best". To get into my heart like that they each have a je ne sais quoi about them that goes over some top of the hill. My current cat while a fine calico does not have it. The current house dog who belongs to Francie not to me does. And by moments above I meant the farewell moments after the whole lifetimes.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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