For Summer

My beast fears me 
as we fear 
the Lord. 
Its only sins
inherent, strewn across my
days in hair and den scent.
I do not care for this, but I care that
it trembles when I come to it;
howls when I walk away. 
It roams my home, avoiding 
me. It hackles at any approach
not mine. I give it all it needs, 
but it still will not come
when I call.

I listen to it snore in the
other room and
sit, like God, 
alone, with cold
and empty hands.

My dog is crazy. I love her very much, but she was obviously abused by whomever owned her first. She’s definitely an Omega in a pack, and treats me like I’m a hyper-Alpha. I basically a god to her, and this poem is an appreciation of that irony.

Comments and conversations on this post

  1. That’s sad. Would you like to trade her in for a model that doesn’t tremble?

  2. Heck no! I love my dog. She just thinks I’m a god. All I want is a cuddle!

  3. Want to borrow Rose to warm your hands?

  4. Now, that’s a better poem!!! I was just busting your balls. 🙂

  5. nigels not a cuddler either.

  6. RT @AdamInCLE: Wrote this: For Summer – #poetry #dogs