|View single post by kris|
|Posted: Fri Dec 10th, 2010 04:53 am||
The dog gave up on me weeks ago
Knowing I was a goner
She turned her back to me with a sniff
Never again to gaze at me with deeply shepherd eyes.
Lying in my own bed (thank God, it’s my own bed!)
Waiting for each and every system to check out
I give up on myself.
Who could deny the loner is a goner?
How long, O Lord? How long?
Doris thinks I’m still a person.
Would you like a shave? she asks.
Why not? I say. It’s been a while.
I’ll do this the old-fashioned way
Mug and brush of badger hair.
No eye of newt? I ask
Then remember I supply my own.
The lather warms me to my toes
Not yet blotchy blue
Though soon enough.
Straight razor deftly held
(No chance that she would cut my throat!)
Swath mown then the flick of a wrist
Ridding the razor of detrital stubble.
Best shave I ever had, I say
And realize I mean it.
I feel the smile I cannot see.
“Thank you, Mr. Joe.”
Tomorrow she will tell me
To let go, that my angel has come
To take me home
And I will almost believe her.
Last edited on Sat Dec 11th, 2010 02:59 am by kris