Brutal Mercy

 

I laid down with you
warm in my arms
you as big as a colt
still possessed of a
steed’s mature grace
unaware of the grief in
my desperate embrace
nose to nuzzling nose
loyal lush-as-mink fur
to my guilt-ridden skin
I dropped tears on the
cold stainless steel
antiseptically morbid
but ringing with trust
in each thump of your
pain-flaunting tail we
were close we were
closer than ever in
eighteen sweet years
as the vet at my nod
pushed the plunger that
instantly stilled the soft
smile of your brows and
extinguished your eyes

Some People Shouldn’t be Parents

so tired of wasting affection
nothing I do seems to matter
every sunrise to sunset
rain or shine or black flies
I sit on the grass calling out
give my best pleading howl
I promise them love
never snarl or chew shoes
but no one responds
so what am I doing here
why did they choose me
just days after weaning
they seem nice enough
but a few pats and rubs
after dinner is all
they seem willing to give
with this collar, this bowl and
this damned rattling chain
nothing I do seems to matter
so tired of wasting affection

Days I Miss

“Man and Dog”
Painting by Tommervik
From fineartamerica.com

there are days
I miss the nose
her soft nuzzle
the gentle rasp
of affection her
tongue on my
wakening skin

there are days
I miss the close
companionship
miming my shadow
walks where I walk
rests where I rest
breathing my air

there are days
I miss the eyes
watching me
watch the world
never tiring of
the mink feel
of fur to my hand

there are days
I miss the love
we exchanged
eighteen years
countless moments
of genuine
mutual pleasure

there are days
I can’t bear
to remember

Alter Ego

Man’s Best Friend
Photo from moveoneinc.com

soft of mouth and paw
avidly affectionate
the dog knows your heart

Old Dogs

“Sleeping Bloodhound”
Painting by Edwin Landseer
From gurneyjourney.blogspot.com

tomorrows once tumbled
about me excitedly
puppies of time bounding
into my lap all at once
scrabbling tender pawed
crowding and licking my face
with unbridled affection
but now they have dwindled
aged into languor preferring
to yawn and lie stretched
on the rug at my feet
they still love me but quietly
knowing like only old dogs
know of truth that they few
are the last of the breed

Neither/Nor

“Howling Wolf”
Painting by Alison Vernon
At alisonvernon.blogspot.com

you stalk chocolate shadows
laid down in the gloaming
dividing your snarls
between lapdog and wolf
always heavy with impudence
yearning for stable identity
damned as a shapeshifter
unholy changeling
among despised creatures
who live and then die
in their very same skin

what cronish cruel hand petted
curses above your furred brow
giving fright to the nights
full of silver-blue moons
stealing peace from paws
never to sleep under pedigree
running from pitchforks
and mad torches brandished
by men in flax tunics who
hate their existence as much
as they fear knowing you