Vigilance of a Pooch
Across the street I sometimes see
a small dog in the window.
His fur is white, his eyes are black,
his nose and ears are pointy.
He barks at me if I’m nearby
and won’t stop till I’m gone.
His rigid stance, his fiery glare,
the vigilance of his watch --
I imagine he must think of me
as some fiend on the prowl.
Looking to sate my hunger,
I lick my fangs. I approach
this one-story brick lunchbox
until an angry sprite appears
and banishes me with his howl.
Broadview Ballad
Maudie smiles and shakes her head,
the diner’s full of noise;
the customers should be in bed,
they act like little boys.
She calls me “cowboy,” then she goes
to get the cheap food started.
We talk a while on jokes and shows.
Retention has departed.
He’s sloshed, I’m pissed, she’s barely here;
at least the crowd is cheerful.
We eat too fast and want a beer
but know the weather’s awful.
Maudie and I share some words;
she likes me, and I her.
Some won’t remember what they heard
or even where they were.
Good-spirited we go our way;
a stranger gets too close.
We hold our cards, line up to pay,
we have enjoyed our dose.
To a Bird on a Field on a (Very) Windy Day
The wind does not offend you
with its mighty blows;
small winged friends, pretend
you’re stronger than what shows.
Uncertain is my hat
and shaken is my step—
how strange to think of that
while birdies seem adept.
You hop, and peck, and turn
you fly! with no concern.
Cocky—almost,
if birds could feel cocky!
Your beauty is what saves you, friend,
from pesticides and hate—
though, looking at your puffed-up chest,
I feel a bit irate.
Who’s to say this boney fowl
should taste the clouds (so sweet)
or scratch or shit or bite or peck
—all garnished with a tweet?
I think I’ll forget the feathers.
Bastards! Low-profile,
fickle fleshlings,
garbage-eaters,
I glorified you with my mere ponderings;
observations of stature
clearly unseen
in your lifeless black eyes.
Likely-diseased vermin,
I erred in my adoration.
Not
a thought
for you.