Sunday, October 12, 2008

"Dog's Best Friend"

By John Grey

Is that what you're trying to tell me.
You're a man in the body of a dog.
You really are my best friend only it goes both ways.
The open door does nothing for you.

Enough of this being led around by a chain.
If we can't walk side by side along the park trails
then as far as you're concerned
you'll curl up on the couch, watch Oprah.

What do you want me to say?
Your memory is shorter than the years dogs live.
What about the time you spied
that pretty Norwich chasing tennis balls.

You almost pulled my arm off at the shoulder.
And there's that stuff you do with telephone poles
And the way you bark at strangers.
And didn't you try to bite the mailman once?

So what does that look mean?
You're the same as me, just less inhibited?
How many gorgeous women have
I longed to run up to and sniff?

Or strutted about like I owned the place
wishing there was a way to mark my territory?
How many times have I bit my tongue
regarding people whose looks I don't care for?

And who says wrapping your molars
around dead meat is more civilized
than a bloody gob full of the live variety?
Ok, I agree, you're my superior but the

city doesn't know that and there's these leash laws.
Do you want to be picked up as a stray?
Yeah, you're right, that's how I get picked up
and you don't hear me complain.

John Grey, a Rhode-Island based poet, is a frequent contributor to MyStoryLives.

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