Thursday, June 6, 2013

poem of the day 06.06.13

gonna buy me a dog

my wife toasts our pints
and then says,
i worry about you if i die first

she’s thirty-six years-old and worries about this


because you don’t talk to anyone but me
with me you talk my ear off
but with everyone else you clam up and sit there

this is true

i’ve never been to a dinner party
and i’m too afraid to knock on the janitor’s door

i worry that you’ll get a dog, she says
and that you’ll talk the poor thing to death

my wife has some beer

i’m basically worried about you
and some poor dog you’ll buy when i’m dead

i won’t buy a dog, i tell her

well, don’t say you’ll be too busy
with your twenty year-old girlfriend
because i’ve seen you around other women

if they aren’t bagging my groceries
there’s nothing between us, i say

i have some beer

you might be right, i tell her
maybe i will buy a dog just in case
i’ll get a german shepherd and name him hunter

that poor dog, my wife says

it could be good
me and hunter drunk walking the neighborhood
after a day with wine and beer
and movies

i’d play him the radio
all the great ones, i tell her
and we can sit there passing the time
listening to the masters

there’d be no need to talk

hell, i’d probably forget the sound
of my own voice, i say

my wife laughs
that animal will be deaf or crazy within in a year

but then i think
i’m not gonna buy me a dog

i won’t have to

because without you, dear
i’ll howl so horribly every night
the dogs will come running to me by the dozens

and together
we’ll yelp sonnets for you

and aim them at the moon.


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