Wednesday, March 30, 2022
Brown-Eyed
Getch nearly takes the door off its hinges, so
angry he forgot the last thing he wants to say to…
"…straighten me out?" Dianne softly laughs,
push-rocking a heavy kitchen chair to a spot
where sun gets in. Mr Brown Eyes arrives to place
his head upon her lap. His clicking along
the tiles still hangs in the air now. Somehow…
You’ll be disappointed too. I forgot to buy your
box of treats rushing back for the asinine fight!
But he just wants to be with her.
Labels: anger, dog, love, self, spat
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Informing the Intellectual
ramble last week.
-Yeah, he continues to search for the dog he
lost twenty-five years ago.
-Wouldn't it be dead by now?
-One might guess.
-Well, then…?
-He’s really looking for the Universal Dog.
-What’s that?
-Don’t know. Just made it up.
-May I look for it?
-Cost you dollar a pop!
-Must you be the brilliant American
in everything?
Labels: American, American Capitalist, dog, insomnia, lost dog, search, searching
Friday, August 11, 2017
Drink Up
Murphzy bursts into tears.
“A blind dog found his own seeing eye dog.
I saw it on YouTube!"
“Now now,” counseled Bartender Arthur.
“It’s a fuckin dog-eat-dog world anyways!”
This from Stone Blind Charlie.
“That’s enough fuckin dogs!”
--Proprietor Maxine flipping the lights.
Darkness. Save for one Bud Lite sign.
Dimly saying lonely lonely lonely.
Labels: bar, blind, Buid Lite, dog, hangout, sentimentality
Monday, August 07, 2017
The One Percent
desires you
cow-content!
How better to get
you to "Speak!"
like Rex,
the Wonder Pooch!
for their hired
amusement.
Labels: betters, class, class structure, condescension, dog, inequality, One Percent, tax crooks
Thursday, July 27, 2017
-Even Hitler
wasn’t always Hitler.
-He loved the one German Shepherd dog.
-Blondie!
-Yes!
-Anyone who loves dogs and kills six
million Jews can’t be all bad!
-You’re Anti-Semitic!
-Subtly!
-The only subtle one to vote for Trump?
-Ja wohl!
Labels: anti-Semitic, anti-Semitic Right, dog, Hitler, Trump
Saturday, October 17, 2015
His Evolution
After he started thrashing, Cecily insisted on twin beds,
cluttering his tiny studio further.
Shortly after, she left. Business trip to San Francisco...
where she decided to stay, hiring on with a weight loss
emporium. She chatted of her boss quite a bit, and then
the phone calls ceased.
Brad piled bills on her bed.
Enter Brennan. Yes, Brennan! Female. He often sang the
phrase Brennan On the Moor, which she found to be just
another of his Irish eccentricities.
Brennan had inherited a penthouse condo from beloved
Uncle Maxie. So, Brad gave his landlord notice,
Offering to leave the “furnishings.”
He took the bills from the bed, most had been paid, and
burned them on a grill in Rupp Park.
And became quite willingly neater and cleaner in the
luxurious digs.
One morning from her frantic cell: “I forgot the gray
attache case!” It evidently held documents equal to
Magna Carta, so Brad trundled it down the elevator
to meet Brennan’s squealing tires resounding in the garage.
Still in robe and pajamas, so she erupted “Aren’t you
going to WORK?”
“I thought I’d give it a shot.”
She shook her head and barreled out of there.
For some reason, the elevator shuddered at their floor.
“Good dog!”
From.
Him.
Issued.
Labels: Brennan on the Moor, condo, dog, Irish, living together, Magna Carta, penthouse, relationship
Tuesday, September 08, 2015
No candy here:
Mornisey was ugly.
“Don’t you just adore my face?”
He asked cashiers.
They answered it was lovely,
sharing the jest.
Some went further, by claiming
not to be Mr or Miss America.
Joked himself through...anyway...
“Body like a block of crap!”
went his rap. Well then,
“He accepted him-
self for who he was!”–uh huh?
Thus saith self-help language,
which aids no one, really. Hey!
he played his hand and
who doesn’t?
Did he marry a beauty?
Gain, too, riches before?
Considering the motivation,
you’d think...SOMEthing!
Dwelt solo in a loft,
pretty-picture-surround,
until the Big Cough
did siege him! Terminally.
You want better in this town?
Get a dog.
Labels: compensation, death, dog, handsome, humor, loneliness, looks, self-depreciation, ugly
Sunday, September 06, 2015
Names
All friends, indeed, proving fickle,
Chupsy got a dog. Irish Wolfhound.
They fall asleep staring at each other's
eyes for depths.
Dorry Maxine Delilah Ruth-Ann Hockner
let herself in with her key and stole the dog.
Moved to Vegas.
Chups bought another. And another.
Louise Bella Tess Destiny-Rohner eased off the
second mid soft snores.
The third, Patrick, well-hedged with electronics.
Though Mickey Helen Trina Orrie Dodge keeps an
eye open anyway.
Labels: break-ups, dog, names, relationships, stealing, women's names
Saturday, March 15, 2014
When the dog came to dinner,
Rick and Edy didn't know how to behave.
After all, he was the TV star!
He growled at Mac and Marie, his handlers, till they had to
go to the doghouse outside, where beloved Fido had once
ruled.
They ate their meal there, and host and hostess were
amazed at how quickly Marie could lap.
Labels: animal training, dog, doghouse, masters, TV
Thursday, November 07, 2013
Who You Know
Playing Army with Inside Friend, Nam Era
-Getting along so far?
-Not bad. Expected crap and got it.
-How do you feel about dogs?
-Hate the dirty little fuckers!
-No! You love 'em!
-If you say.
-Getting you into veterinary unit.
-Advantage there?
-You don't get killed. Oh, maybe a dog or two.
-The more the better.
Labels: dog, favoritism, influence, Nam, Vietnam
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
If not now, when?
One more time, and then the last. Ginnie prepares to argue with the Vet.
But he insists “Let’s do it.”
Shortly her other legs would go. And, as she was already deaf and nearly blind…
Ginnie cries holding her as Doc eases the needle
in saying “Goodbye old Honey.”
“He says no charge,” Lillian tells her, so she
needn’t offer ten on account and admit she
started living in her car.
Behind the receptionist, a calendar of a snowy mountain, its gray foothills creeping forward,
through them and the wall in back.
One more time, and then the last. Ginnie prepares to argue with the Vet.
But he insists “Let’s do it.”
Shortly her other legs would go. And, as she was already deaf and nearly blind…
Ginnie cries holding her as Doc eases the needle
in saying “Goodbye old Honey.”
“He says no charge,” Lillian tells her, so she
needn’t offer ten on account and admit she
started living in her car.
Behind the receptionist, a calendar of a snowy mountain, its gray foothills creeping forward,
through them and the wall in back.
Labels: dog, Euthanasia, living in car, vet
