I like America’s Got Talent,
especially when they have dog acts.
I love dog acts. I cry at dog acts.
I wish dog acts would bark and chase
those young kids and aspiring adults
who sing opera every year and
get into the semifinals off the stage;
chase the pretentious dance troupes
and acrobats; half-funny comics;
the children who sing lustily in adult voices;
the seniors with fading contralto dreams;
the day glow CGI artists who
illustrate on a big, dark canvas;
the magicians with their card slight of hand,
even the ones who just do regular magic—
right off the stage with a bark and
a push of their snouts.
Dog acts are pure.
They sit. They heel.
They stay. They obey.
They even sing, dance and draw too.
All acts should be dog acts.
All dreams should be dog dreams.
Every million dollar winner,
mongrel or pure bred,
should have a 100% canine heart—
even though they would trade it all
for a pat on the head, good treats
nice walks with you and belly rubs.
