Thursday, December 11, 2014

That which I've learned

Never place your trust
In a man who wears pointy toed shoes
Or a dog whose prick ears go back
In the position that means fear
When coyotes howl on PBS

Keep several grains of salt
In a little bag in your pocket
For when you go to church
The car dealership
Anywhere near candidates for office

Know that the human heart is a hotel
People check in, people check out
One leaves a five spot on the pillow
One steals the coffee carafe

Believe that if you lay your palm
On a tree and say "Good morning"
If you wait quietly a few moments
You will hear the tree say "The same to you"

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

My Dog Writes Poems About Rain


All of his poems have titles like
Evil Water Falls Promiscuously
From the Sky the Gods Must Be Dead

In the park he stands under a tree
muttering phrases and counting out meter
until I give up and go back to the car
for the glove-compartment umbrella

Your mother's people herded Belgian sheep
And your father's fathers were from Labrador
I tell him
There's no earthly reason why you should
be so Evelyn-Genevieve-Priscilla about rain

Water is for drinking purposes only
He states in the voice of a narrator
of health department PSAs
And hold that umbrella right
A damp collar one moment is pneumonia the next