A Clover poem

“that everyone here can read and write,

the dogs in poetry, the cats and all the others in prose.”

Billy Collins, “The  Revenant”

No, Clover.

I am not walking you today. Didn’t you notice?

It’s 5:26 p.m.

 

Yes, Clover.

I should have walked you at our normal time

but I didn’t,

 

Clover, I just didn’t.

No real reason.

(although it did start to rain)

 

Why are you still begging  twelve hours later?

Did you have a date?

Did you and Polo make secret plans?

 

She’s been out all day

doing mysterious things with a hole. She seems surprised

most morning that I even remember

 

to show up faithfully, six days out of seven, for our walk,

while you, Clover

jump on me with  nails like claws

 

you bark before my coffee

slides down my throat to my feet

which only awake when I walk

 

you, Clover.

I’ve stumbled through fog

this whole long day.

Comments

  1. dog poetry is good poetry

  2. This makes me want to have a dog.

  3. So far I haven’t walked my dogs, so they don’t expect it. They do, however, expect to cuddle with me several times a day.

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