the old dog stretches
closed eyes with a dog smile
contentedly farts
—-
Friday Haiku
Based on a true story
He’s still in the room with me
floating and leaving no trace
the old dog stretches
closed eyes with a dog smile
contentedly farts
—-
Friday Haiku
Based on a true story
He’s still in the room with me
bedside, the dog growls
my eyes fly open, ready
–awakened from sleep
sacked out
at my feet
the dog looks tired
tongue hanging out
where he is missing teeth
on the walk
he seemed lively
and we took a route
we rarely take
so we could hear the frogs
in the creek
whenever the cars weren’t
whooshing past us
and we had
a moment of stillness
he snores
i smell the scent
of wood smoke from chimneys
see the blanket of low clouds
not quite fog
listening again
to the throaty calls
of frogs
someone left a loaf of bread
by the roots of the pine tree
my dog wants to investigate
hoping that there are also
the makings of a sandwich
hidden in the bushes
but he’ll settle
for the wet bread
flavored by needles
and soft grass
at my feet the dog
sleeps–breath rising and falling
then, of course, he farts
the air
squeezes you like a hug
in these eighty-plus degrees
and the rain
cold in the heat
isn’t cold enough
to keep you from sweating
the dog
doesn’t seem
to mind walking
and you trudge along
behind to make him happy
because he’s old
FRIDAY HAIKU
FRIDAY HAIKU
FRIDAY HAIKU
from the roof’s apex
the phoebe watches us when
the dog sees a squirrel
on the walk the dog stops
more than he should
to tear up blades of grass
and try to chew them with teeth
he doesn’t have
you don’t know anything
about the water they use
–is it reclaimed?–
to water the grass
or if there are pesticides
or hallucinogenic mushroom spores
clinging to the underside
of the leaves
you tell him to stop
pulling the leash again
and again
for his own good
and the next time he pauses
instead of eating the grass
he rolls in it
instantly a puppy
instantly forgiven
with blades of grass hanging
from his mouth
Did a ton of yard work yesterday and I was too tired to even think about writing a poem. We’ll see what I can squeezez out today.
The coyote stopped
Stared into the flashlight
While we crossed the street
It’s coat was grey and shiny
It looked well-fed
Though I hadn’t heard about
Any missing pets
It kept its distance
We kept ours
The dog on the end of the leash
Who can’t see well in the dark
Didn’t catch a scent of his distant, wild cousin
Or there would have been whined greetings
But I think
The coyote appreciated
Our giving him his space
And he turned
And prowled the perimeter of the bushes
Looking for dinner