Dog Poet

image borrowed from bing

Dog Poet

“What makes us suppose that only

the living mourn?”--Dave King

“No matter how deep my sleep is,

I will hear you, & not all the power of death

will prevent my spirit from wagging

a grateful tail.”--Eugene O’Neill

Standing on the sad deck at my den staring,

love I find/feel with languid lids looking

at the silly sign, by the girls carved;

TAFFY it reads, who I am & will be

always.

My house of aging boards of gray

of me smells pungent sweet,

the soft blanket of red, the wood even

where I against it have rubbed. 

Always the Bitch feeds me better nice

than the Himself; She heats it warm

or even gravy smothers crunchers,

while He in a hurry always scrapes & pours

wet or dry into bowls of bright chew glass;

but OK, at the table He allows many more

tongue licks from His dish and the Bitch

holds out smiling tough love. 

My yard is small but big for me enough

with a strong fence of steel so tall,

and over 13 summers I peed on patch all,

forgetting never my treasures hidden

in corners of dark garden or porch-unders--

those lovely bones I love to re-dig

and chew dirty. 

I know days shorter become as

my dog naps grow many & longer,

where I can romp again, leaping high

at squirrels that chide, without

that bad pain stiffness that awaits me now

catching up to me, singing meanly

in my muscles on stairs.

In early summer, the tradition honoring,

I pretend to like my summer shearing,

“she always looks like a puppy again”

with red ribbons dainty-tied behind my ears

that too much now I do not hear when

I am called or recalled. 

Yes, I hear too much my name being called

by birds & other things of wings, knowing 

too well, one day soon, or alone in the darkness

I will not able be to return from the Spirit Land

dream-traveling I do with my lids down.

But worrying not of me You should be,

for I will be pure love, light as sun ray,

floating, flying, hovering with my tail

as rudder, watching as before, still

waiting at the door;

so know this my People, 

even though age has overtaken me,

a privilege it was to center be

in the circle of Your love,

and Your companion will be I

when the Adventure You finally share. 

Glenn Buttkus

October 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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