there he was,
chasing sticks,
doing tricks,
and all that stuff
next minute, woof
there he was,
chasing sticks,
doing tricks,
and all that stuff
next minute, woof
Frisbee whizzing
through the air
above our heads
over the sand
into the water
onto the waves
out to sea.
You cried a lot that day.
Frisbee was a lovely dog.
A mall. As it is.
God!
Was it a cat I saw?
Dogs?
It is a llama.
Yes, it was I who let the dogs out.
At first it was hard to hear their howls
over the hubbub of gathered guests.
By the time, their panicked yelps pierced
the pandemonium, the party was bumping
and everybody was having a ball.
Except the dogs that is.
Perhaps it was the noise that upset them
or maybe it was simply the fact
that they didn’t have a bone.
For what is a dog without a bone?
He is nothing.
A mere mongrel without meaning.
A pooch without purport.
The dogs disappeared. And so did I,
for canine emancipation came with a cost.
The manhunt goes on.
Even now I hear their cries
and I cling doggedly to the dark,
hounded into the shadows.
Frisby whizzing
Through the air
Over the sand
Into the water
Onto the waves
Out to sea.
You cried a lot that day.
Frisby was a lovely dog.