Dog
The dog trots freely in the street
and sees reality
and the things he sees
are bigger than himself
and the things he sees
are his reality
Drunks in the doorways
Moons on trees
The dog trots freely thru the street
and the things he sees
are smaller than himself
Fish on newsprint
Ants in holes
Chickens in Chinatown windows
their heads a block away
The dog trots freely in the street
and the things he smells
smell something like himself
The dog trots freely in the street
past puddles and babies
cats and cigars
poolrooms and policemen
He doesn’t hate cops
He merely has no use for them
and he goes past them
and past the dead cows hung up whole
in front of the San Francisco Meat Market
He would rather eat a tender cow
than a tough policeman
though either might do
And he goes past the Romeo Ravioli Factory
and past Coit's Tower
and past Congressman Doyle of the Unamerican Committee
He’s afraid of Coit’s Tower
but he’s not afraid of Congressman Doyle
although what he hears is very discouraging
very depressing
very absurd
to a sad young dog like himself
to a serious dog like himself
But he has his own free world to live in
His own fleas to eat
He will not be muzzled
Congressman Doyle is just another
fire hydrant
to him
The dog trots freely in the street
and has his own dog’s life to live
and to think about
and to reflect upon
touching and tasting and testing everything
investigating everything
without benefit of perjury
a real realist
with a real tale to tell
and a real tail to tell it with
a real live
barking
democratic dog
engaged in real
engaged in real
free enterprise
with something to say
about reality
and how to see it
and how to hear it
with his head cocked sideways
at streetcorners
as if he is just about to have
his picture taken
for Victor Records
listening for
His Master’s Voice
and looking
like a living questionmark
into the
great gramophone
of puzzling existence
with its wondrous hollow horn
which always seems
just about to spout forth
some Victorious answer
to everything
with something to say
about reality
and how to see it
and how to hear it
with his head cocked sideways
at streetcorners
as if he is just about to have
his picture taken
for Victor Records
listening for
His Master’s Voice
and looking
like a living questionmark
into the
great gramophone
of puzzling existence
with its wondrous hollow horn
which always seems
just about to spout forth
some Victorious answer
to everything
4 comments:
What a wonderful piece...makes me think of the pups who blessed my life over the last number of years: Idgie, the little lost deaf cocker who was blond love on four legs; Cooper, the big boy who thought he was only 2 pounds of little (except when it came to chasing squirrels and Callie, my cat, when she got outside); Red, the bravest little yellow-eyed boy in Baton Rouge; Fox, chewer of all things stationary, including cat turds---ESPECIALLY cat turds; and Kittie Carlisle, she of purple tongue and blond tail and dancing feet. They were all lost souls, and were "throw-away" pups to others. Those that threw them away were simpletons who missed out on more love than we humans could ever deserve...love that was/is more holy and consistent than any we humans share one with another. These pups were blessings to me---God with skin and wet noses and tails. Idgie and Cooper have gone on: Idgie is eating God's wet food and Coop is chasing heavenly squirrels. Kittie is on armadillo patrol in south Mississippi, and is possibly the happiest dog on this continent.
Red and Fox are now Big City dogs, and probably want to beat up UGA (the mascot for U. of GA), as they were brought up to be rabid (figuratively, not literally) LSU fans. The poem made me think of their little lives, and how each one wandered around lost for a while, but knew when home had been found. Hell, they helped to make home feel like a home.
I miss them all. God, keep them safe.
Dammit CJ, that made me cry. You really must start your own blog. Let's make it happen.
Sorry, baby.... I did not mean to make you cry. I just miss them all. I hope that Coop and Idgie knew how special they were to me. I hope that Red and Fox think of their B.R. mom occasionally...I can not even look at their pics without choking up a bit...expecially one of Red, taken while he was sitting in our back yard. He is staring right at the camera, with the saddest, bravest look on his sweet face. (Maybe he already knew what i had yet to learn.) Then there is Miss Kittie...so big and brave, and yet so sweet and gentle....the only animal to ever come close to breaking down the barriers within my mother. That Kittie is a bit of a miracle worker. I find that the memories of these five are so real to me....the consistency of each of them makes me realize how deficient i am in the true definition of love and care. Little role models they are. Zane--not so much so. Since it is just she and i now, she has gotten to be an attention whore. She throws grapes at me when i have not held her enough; she has remembered every curse word that anyone has ever uttered in her presence (as well as screaming "Help me, Help me!" a few nights ago--i kept waiting for the local SWAT team to deploy in my living room); she has taken to crawling down her cage, getting on the floor, and walking from the living room to the bathroom or bedroom---where ever I am---I think she believes she is the ruler of all things CJ at this point in time. God help me. I am the waitress to an African Gray with a Napoleonic complex....who curses, to boot. Word to the wise...keep the animals who can not tell scream profanity at you....
Great work.
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