walking through the park
people watching
eyeing the entertainment
a clown twisting balloons
into obscure shapes
and telling people
'it's a dog'
or
'it's a monkey'
and those same people
grinning enthusiastically and exclaiming
'it is, it is!!!'
while walking away
pulling junior by his arm
scolding
'hurry up'
the balloon lasts 5 minutes
usually less
before junior
trying to choke the 'doggie'
busts the balloons...

...and then we're left with
a screaming
      crying
        toddler
       great

i turn my attention to the pond
ducks, geese, a swan or two (i think)
moving gracefully
on the water
until one duck
smaller than the rest
starts quacking anxiously
obviously distressed
and i turn to see it caught up in a tangle of discarded
fishing twine
his terror obviously alarming the others
and then there's a spectacle
of quaking, splashing birds and people
while a few good hearted samaritans rush to
save the duck
eventually a beat cop arrives
shooing people away
while saving the day using his handy
sport knife to cut away the twine and set the bird free
taking a small bow to the crowd of people cheering

moving along
i come to a street vendor
selling ice cones, pop, cotton candy and popcorn
so i stop for a small ice cone
blue
treating myself
walking along
enjoying the scene
i notice a few kids laughing and pointing
i shrug it off until a kindhearted old lady
offers
'your face is blue, dear'
taking out my compact mirror
i do see that my face is indeed blue
   the ice cone
which i unceremoniously dump into the next waste bin
trying in vane to scrub the blue off of my face
with a slowly shredding napkin
i take the path to the nearest exit
out of the park

so much for a relaxing stroll in the park
on a beautiful spring day.

So if your reading this.. You can probably tell I'm drunk and lonely
I don't know if you know, but the reason I keep writing was because of you
The reason I kept breathing was because of the way you spoke

You're calming cadence in your voice spoke to my uneasy soul
That has always been shaken but never stirred
Yet you asked me if our kiss wouldn't mean a thing
and I thought that it would not
I was used to people caring
but when someone did not
I released all of my love
... and now I realize that it was my mistake
to live the way I have my entire life
now I'm not sure how to fix it

You're still drowning but now so am I
but perhaps their is a chance for us
to doggie-paddle our way to safety

up in the morning,
you stretch your back legs,
its time to take you out thats how we started our day,
while waiting patiently as i put my shoes on,
your harness secure your leash right on,
started are walk like every morning,
nothing felt wrong,
the decision to go to work or to call in sick,
had to make this decision had to make it quick,
outside we walked along the street,
you walk along beside me prancing your little feet,
taking your ****** around the tree where you always stopped to ******,
we finished our walk,
and i was going to work,
i wish i would have stayed oh how i regret that day,
the building manager watched over you,
how i regret leaving you,
I'm sorry i left you my baby boo boo,
i said my good byes i was already late,
telling you i love you,
i thought id see you later that day,
the day went by i worked my whole shift,
on my way to pick you up,
wasn't prepare for all this,
got to the door as he shared the news,
that you had passed away,
my life took a turn,
it would never be the same,
dropped to my knees stared to cry,
as i felt my soul begin to die,
how did this happen what did i miss,
you were fine this morning now i’ll never know this,
I beat myself up for leaving you that day,
for a job that doesn’t exist anymore anyway,
your soft white curly coat,
your bark as skate boards go by,
i never got to say good bye,
your scent of that stinky dog breath of yours,
how it made me feel comfort that smell that you had,
cuddling close up in my arms,
licking at my face and now your gone,
oh how i miss you every night,
I want you to know how much i love you,
my baby boy Prada,
the little white poodle forever thats you.

I really didn’t know my mother
I knew her moods
But, I didn’t know her
And I really don’t think she knew her children
She knew our names...mostly
But, she didn’t know us
I know my mother loved singing
I heard my mother sing
"How much is that doggie in the window”
And
One of my favorites
"Charming Billy"
I know she liked to cook
I know she read The Godfather and Valley Of The Dolls
I know she liked having a party
I know family holidays STRESSED her out
I know she had many friends
I know she drank a lot
I know she went out a lot
I know she drank and went out a lot with her many friends
I know she had many blackouts
I know she could go from very pleasant to wicked mean, instantly, especially when drinking
I know that she hated my father
I think she hated my father for not doing what needed to be done to make it all work out
I think maybe she resented her sons for being his sons
I know my mother was brutalized by her father
I know my mothers father followed my mother wherever she went as a teen because he didn’t trust her
I know my mothers father called her terrible names that a father should not call a daughter
I know that my mother married an alcoholic who gambled too much and beat her for his own sins
I wish I knew other things instead of these things about my mother
But...
I know my mother would have liked me to remember other things too...

Lie back think of England
Tuck into toad in the hole
Cider with Rosie,  peaches and cream
Juggle dumplings scoring a goal

Oats in the nose-bag, flip-flop away
Doggie do in the park
Scream shout, dip in and out
On the side after dark

Wellies squidgy in the mud
Carpet burns tickling trout
Marigolds in the soap suds
Eyes askew, up the spout

Doggie Dog, Doggie Dog
Writing in his doggie blog.

Catty Cat, Catty Cat
Chillin' in her catty flat.

Mousey Mouse, Mousey Mouse
Cleaning up his mousey house.

Foxy Fox, Foxy Fox
Packing up her foxy box.

Ducky Duck, Ducky Duck
Swimming in the gunky muck.

Goosy Goose, Goosy Goose
Putting her smart mind to use.

Ratty Rat, Ratty Rat
Story's over.  That is that.

He's singing
Bergdorf Blonde
Conde Nast Traveller
Rude or ****
Explode Bombshells.
He's singing I'm getting
married
Such a Pushover puppet?

Slave over the silken magnet
Oh so swift and swell let
the show begins

Those ritual love sin's
Miss Polly String smile say cheese
He's the Maneater enticing grins
His Trump Tower bell?
Oh! Hello Poetry
People like twin packing
Playgirl smooching
her lips pillow talk

The puppet stalk
their suitcases, but surprisingly
she falls down and trips
Play up your string's
Love act of rings
Her killer lace went into his face.
They all had a puppet inside.

A daredevil ride
Nowhere to hide
Las Vegas Nevada,
Like no other place.
She was in her prime
Diva,
Donna so Dollie, he had
a craving bank her they all
had to thank him
The foursome the Follie's
Do him
Torn to be so trendy
Such a spendy

Walmart of walnuts
Two amazing dollies
She's the magazine of
Italian Fendi.
Pulling her hair more flair
The whole shebang cashew's
Pushed by his split so
picky pecans.
How it went to her
Big little liar nephew's.
Like puppet curfews
  Hello, Poetry New.
The white wedding blue's
Magnifying big lip's.
He needed a Holly-doll
The next clue?
Silk strings taped up
That puppet took a mighty
long trip...

Did I say plastic puppet is real porcelain skin faces?

Playgirl's cries needed
a dominating diet
Hefner smoking jacket suit

What a demonstration,
pulling on hemming mini
skirt trims chances
dangerously slim
So condemning
caused a riot.
The other crowd what
Oscar Meyer Wiener.
Going to the Vet doggie collar he
was tied to be fit silk suit
Las Vegas show trainers.
Who got caught with the puppet
Honey tricked peanut butter playgirl
Puppet show went all hobbit
over "Twitter" mixed whirl
        
What a nut sometimes you feel
like a nut
sometimes you won't and she
knows you don't

The rest going to H---.
Must I B dreaming?

He's singing I'm your puppet man,
Elephant nose cleaned out the planter's
Such a big spender and tipper.
Brooklyn his name Lucas @ the circus!

Like a physic knows your inner thoughts,
hanging on a string.
Everything that comes out of his mouth is two!

I have a puppet surfing the internet
wrapped her around
Felt an undercurrent_ it was
like pieces of glass
soundproof,
his crafty fingers.

Is he doing the best he can?

He's pulling her madly
Puppet computer search
Penny the dreadful
He expects us to jump when
he's oversexed active
looking for his puppet chair,
in the back.
A ****-day puppet!
He's the pig face twilight zone
muppet's
Well doing the can-can two
Playgirl's
hit the fan
The puppets became
the Gentleman

  Playgirl's shuffling "Rose" deck
   Hollywood screen bedding
    Puppets skillful  making

        The Poem Day.
         Puppets pray
         String cheese display

Obsessed stories Puppets.

Playgirl's color gypsy Rose Leah  
Miss Natalie from the woods preach
Silken Marionette.  
So wrapped like someone's gift
But used thrifty bed
He's in his red-hot Corvette.
Instead of roses, his thing french brie
Stock market up and away tie
I rather have my pasta bow-ties
Swiss, the air she's the playgirl
  Swiss Alp's skiing
he ripped his pant's Swiss Alps hole.
Marilyn Monroe playgirl presidential
dancing on the Christmas pole
Love tropic Pineapple dole
  The bed red hot Corvette. console

Instead of roses, his thing was cheese.
"So Swiss" with holes of lace my face
I hate to burst your cheese,
He dragged his shirt open

Twice the fun playgirl she eloped
I became his string cheese pet!!
I'm not your string cheese.
Hello Godzilla, puppet collection
Bella bella Genie mozzarella

"Puppet overpriced sales
All your friends are a puppet male.
Make a wish blowfish

In all the year how I tracked men's nuts,
she had to string together nut job's,
eat a string cheese.
Polly didn't want animal crackers,
Groucho became like a ******.

The puppet master showing
his game piece
and pull on someone else's

Is God real?
This is a hard topic.
What is religion?
is it going to church every day,
praying every day,
not drinking, not smoking, no sin, no mistakes?
I used to think this,
but now I believe that it is whatever ever you believe,
many turn away from faith because they believe, no they fear they will not be able to live.
I believe there is a place where my grandfather rest along with my doggie,
I believe they are looking out for me while I wear this cross around my neck,
I believe they understand what I do and understand I'm a child,
That will make mistakes and needs to live,
I believe there is a higher up picking roses from a garden on earth to make his garden in heaven just a little bit brighter.
This is what I believe.
This is my religion.
It's not for everyone but some might just take a second thought to the things I have written about. Just maybe.

The Doggie was white,
  and the Kitty was black,
  as they crouched at each end of the floor

Their eyes never met,
  because the rules were set,
  that the dog would chase the cat as before

At night came the darkness,
  and the Kitty stood up
  and headed right straight to the door

But the Doggie just lay there with his head
  on his paws, and thought:
  “Tonight—is quite different for sure”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
‘For Kiley, Hunter, Braden & Parker’
            My Grandchildren

Pet Port A *****

I took a walk in the city today
to try to pass the time away.
Saw lots of people walking too
stepped right in a pile of doggy doo.
I thought for a moment just what could be done
to clean up the streets of doggie dung.
Maybe I'll invent something really super
even finer than a pooper scooper.
A port a ***** for our four legged friends
on every street corner where every road bends.
Then I'll become famous for this awesome invention
at the monthly town meetings my name will be mentioned.
They'll throw a big party and dance in the streets
because never again will there be **** on our feet!

Written By Kathy J Parenteau
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Dog walks are good for many things,
she wishes I would, Everyday!
whatever the weather brings, night and day,
should suffice, to this hope she clings.

Alas and Woe,
there are days that I go out
without
her.

I reach and bend and bag what others
leave behind, take from the ground
and out of the grass;
candy wrappers,
plastic everything,
empty roll-up-the-rim cups,
and the ever present dangerous,
shards of glass.

Cigarette packages, no buts,
emptied envelopes, doggie bags (take out food)
and the other kind too!

Pack ‘em up.

Pick ‘em up

Who threw ‘em out?

There is no garbage
can at this bus stop,
people walk and
drive their cars,
with open disregard,
that where they drop
their refuse, I consider
my front yard! So keep
your garbage for yourself.

Now where was I?

Ah, yes off to walk my dog,
part two.

DWE 2013-04-05

When  was young, my first word was "Momma"
because I was always reaching out for someone who was never there.
Always a little bit too infatuated with her occupation
and her husband was always too in love with the bottle
maybe that's why my second word was "doggie" instead of "daddy"
because a dog brought me more emotional security-
spent too much time trying to drink away the long work hours
and not enough time trying not to break our spirits
like the empty miller lite bottles thrown at walls and faces-
When I was seven, I first discovered ***.
A man placed his hands where he shouldn't have
and then a year later a girl did the same thing
so by nine I was feeling the urge to fornicate with everything
because I thought that intimacy was normalcy
and I could give myself to anyone who would take me.
But I was nine, so no one would take me-
and I was terrified of any arms that tried to hold me,
and I thank someone, whoever is out there, for that everyday.
By thirteen the crosses I bared began crawling their way
out of my spine and into my lungs making it hard to speak
and then into the back of my mind so I couldn't think
no more denial, or lost memory, I saw it all so ******* clearly-
The hands that turned me futile tried to end my life once
but they used me as a host
tried to **** whatever was making me sad
a bottle of vicodin down the hatch to drown the memories
that I could never ******* get away from-
Darkness.
When I was fourteen my savior became poisoned by circumstance
the edge of the hands I used to grip when I was young
turned cold and the face I had grown to admire looked sickly.
These crosses I bared didn't win, but they didn't lose.
They continued demanding refuge
and the memories kept demanding to be heard
and the denial of my grandma having cancer grew stronger-
then he moved in.
And I'm not talking about grief, although the names sound similar.
I was weak.
Prone to the demons I had been hiding-
had to face the man that took away my sanity, my sexuality
every single ******* day.
So these razor blades became a paintbrush and my body the canvas
and every time I took it to my skin I would call it a masterpiece.
At some point, around the time my mom starting listening
she heard me crying out to the demons I spent my days fighting-
Around that same time my grandmother died.
So my weakness became strength and her strength withered
and she tried to drown her pain in a bottle of morphine.
9:25 am. "ring" "ring" "ring"
hello? mom? where are you? A mental hospital?
The words "I could've tried harder" keep repeating in my mind
and kept taunting and nagging at my skin
telling me to paint one more ******* time
to make something so beautiful out of all of this ******* mess-
So I picked up a pen again. Started writing.
I was about 17 when things started getting better,
met a boy who smiled at me like I was ******* God
and found hope in the curve of his spine and the whites of his eyes.
But I wasn't looking for an escape again
and I knew that's just what he would be.
Falling victim to the hands that have seen better days
and the eyes that only needed someone to say,
"I am here for you." something I didn't want to lose.
Now I'm almost 20 and these recollections feel just like stories-
the control they once had over my mind has diminished
somewhere between the bottle masking my pain
and the friends who listened when I spoke
I ended up seeing the sunshine for the very first time
and ******* it was beautiful.

My poor, stupid poodle,
peed on the pedestal
of Cleopatra's needle
on Victoria embankment,
near the Golden Jubilee bridge.
( Oh! I am miserable!
I couldn't stop the debacle)
The poodle's puny misdeed
embarrassed not just me,
but the whole city of Westminster,
as fire alarm rang out loud,
when an overzealous constable
gave a distress signal.
It brought the fire chief himself,
who came rushing to meet
the emergency situation,
thinking the poodle was trying
to put out a fire erupted
on the ancient monument,
once shipped to England,
overcoming great adversities,
from Africa, long back.

I wanna buy a puppy
A really happy puppy
I wanna buy a puppy
A happy big-eyed puppy
I want to buy a puppy
A warm and cuddable puppy
I want to buy a puppy
A pup won't slobber silly

I wanna buy a puppy
One that's so go-lucky
A happy happy puppy
I wanna buy a puppy
I want to buy a puppy
A big fat furry puppy

The warmth and love of puppy
I really want a puppy

It's an itch I won't allow myself to scratch
A scar that's begun to scab
and I must hit the top of my own hand
every time my fingers start to wander towards it again
I've placed that horribly depressing doggie
cone of silence around myself
Thankfully,
it's mostly invisible to everyone except me
I've built brick walls around my home,
I'm not quite sure what purpose they serve anymore,
all I know is that when I first started building,
it was meant to keep myself
from going back to you
Now that all too familiar urge has fizzled out and died along with the rest of them
That desire to hear you say my name again
The longing to feel your fingers dance over my skin
in all the places you knew made me cringe
with something much hotter than happiness
Yes, I won't lie
Those walls were meant to keep me from acting solely on impulsive
reaching for you again simply out of habit
loving you out of routine
forgiving you
because it was easier
than letting you go
But now
the walls are there to keep you the **** away
Don't ever come back for me
Don't you ******* dare
Don't come to my home
Don't show up here with a fist full of roses and a throat full of apologies,
wearing I'm Sorry's like body armor against the fire you know is sure to spit out from the mouth you used to love to kiss
And do you even recognize my hands?
The ones that tidied everything despite my undeniable messiness,
the ones that folded things neatly so only to please you, because we both know that I couldn't have gave a **** if that blanket was here or there or anywhere, I didn't care if it was folded or not, I didn't give a ****, dear, but I folded that ****** for you,
the ones that wrote poems you never even pretended to read,
the ones that created masterpieces your eyes only glanced at, never allowing yourself the time necessary to absorb their true beauty because who the hell had time for that? Hello? There were video games to play, babe.
These hands that would have moved mountains for you,
these pacifistic hands that would have killed for you,
fought wars for you,
burned themselves on the stove tops for you,
picked up all the pieces of myself that you single handedly destroyed for you,
and then, like a child, handed them right back to you.
Do you recognize these hands, love?
These hands that built brick walls so high,
I only stopped because they kissed the sky.
Don't stop me if you see me,
Don't look me in the eye,
you packed your bags and left,
you don't get to say goodbye.

sunshine, butterscotch
doggie licks, bunny hops
the summer breeze
i wish in this
cold fleeting heart
in me

“of late, I have been falling in and out of love with words.” (Pradip)

Dear Pradip,

yeah had them symptoms too, pizza and penicillin, lost my sense of taste and smell, but neither helped, guessing gets tougher, when older, all those associated, assorted, amazing never ending, abracadabra, baptismal-bathing-broadening, buttered-up jobs & responsibilities when your suddenly taller by a new generational addition to the family tree, which means much more concerning, burning worrying words, you dare not say aloud, cause Shiva is too interested, and has too many arms, in interfering with your many small pieces of composure in pandemic days.

Sorry, buddy got no solution, maybe rubbing alcohol, maybe hard liquor, prayers on knees to a 57 variety of deities, try a different temple, start the week on a Wednesday, learn to rhumba, practice meditation way out loud, be annoyingly concerned bout everybody else, offer to do all the kids homework, buy the wife a new dress so you can have an argument regarding wasting money, so you can kiss and make up, heck and ****, you could even write crazy words in any order your personal dictionary commands, reorganizing them in reverse order, and then slapdash them together and call it stew,

don’t matter as long as you got the jaw jawing, the eyes winking, the people looking at you like you gone cuckoo mad, tell your children how much you love them in the middle of day, wave to a neighbor across the street, the gossipy one who always spying on you, sing some cowboy ***-on-little-doggie lullabies, interspersing a Yellow Submarine, croon A Long and Winding Road, and Do Not Forget to include Let It Be, preach with a whang damnastic fever to the street peddlers, then ask for a better price, by now your not-so-well repute will precede you, everyone be offering a cool drink, or hot tea, fresh paneer, really big discounts, the most comfy chair, asking what else ya need, tell ‘em a pen and some paper, please, and everyone will be relieved! cause you back to merely, plain, ordinary crazy, simply composing that wonderful poetry you love to
w r i t e
and everything is
r i g h t
in the world.

other than that, got no consoling words. Sorry.

Sincerely,

The Natster

Cancel Haloween, I'm not the monster here
Fall's my favorite season, but hell October's doggie days for me
Stagnant rivers, and pockets full of leaves
I try to run a little faster just to escape these things catching up to me
Big furrys and little monsters at my knees

Oh, geeze-la-weeze
I need to feed on something sweet
So give me your neck girl,
I need your flesh, give me your blood, your best
Give me your glitter, your neon *******
Oh, get me the hell out of this monsters nest

Adrenaline pumped into me, I feel every blood platelet intimately rushing through me.
Radioactively synthesized, authenticity arise
Don't wait on me babe, I'm just trying to synchronize

Worry about me, and I'll let the tension build
Till I get the attention fill I need, babe.
Raid my mind with all your battleships and heavy war machines
Break me down until you find something worth keeping

I've bartered the black market selling love for lust, and my dreams for less
I barter for pleasures, but I always want more
I've lived a shallow life, assured
I've become a monster, and a *****, all while trying something new
That I was told was a cure
Now I follow with the bewildered beasts boohoo
Now I follow with the bewildered beasts boohoo

These two fold expressions arent meant
from poverty where masks are worn at a young age
Old white men
Gentiles
We live in odd times
Where we need to be protected from extremist radicals and that includes those whose job it is to protect us
The state which when alienated from the populace is an enemy
And how can I learn to trust my brother when he may be the one that puts me down?
Complexities are disavowed,
Scorned by nature as being argumentative
And still I have something to say
This way we're going wont end in laughter or *******
It becomes a monster of reciprocity
Spewing disinterest, hatred -
Hey man!
Whatever sells!
The printing presses dont stop
The digital era beacon pulses
We must understand
That when we only consume
We will never have the time to contemplate
Our societies, and by that mean our economies, must be restructured to include and value periods of boredom, breaks for laughing, and vacations for intimate ****** exchanges like kissing,
clittoral licking,
******* bucking.
Our happiness will increase
Our weight will drop
And we will find that we do have meaning on this rock

In the village,
There is a one-legged dog
Which runs after white cars
Like the devil confronted with  the Cross  And, defeated,
Withdraws whimpering and moaning.

Sometimes, I see him
when I return late at night,

He has, times galore, without actually saying it,
Said that he is leaving my car which is not white, alone.

Long before he became a white one-legged dog,
He was a young white doggie.
A white piece of cotton wool,
A tiny dandelion
That ran, jumped and flew with abandon,
At his favorite turning.

The decree
That vehicles may not crash into dandelions Was not enforced in our place.

On an evening
A white car
Had struck him down
And sped away without stopping.

Every time a white car
Comes through that turning,
He runs after it on his single leg
Sometimes he touches it,
Then whining and whimpering,
Retreats and lies down,  eyes closed.

Forgive me
For giving a wrong simile in the beginning.
It is not like the devil
Confronted with the Cross..

Towards that white car which didn’t stop,
Which reduced  A dog’s life
To one leg,
The white dog, the old tiny dandelion

Has some other feelings

There was egg salad in the fridge,
half a container of that store bought,
neon-green guacamole that nobody else
likes but me,
tortilla chips too.

So, we sat together and ate
this hodgepodge lunch,
the dog and I.

She never once complained
that there were no crackers
or a few pieces of soft, white
or even dark, crusty
pumpernickel bread.

We thought about whatever
it was that we thought about
while we chewed thoughtfully.

I looked up the word: tincture
in the dictionary that I keep in my
office,
right off the kitchen.

A friend of mine had used the word
in correspondence, and I was rather
embarrassed that I’d not known what
it meant.

But,
I found that embarrassment wanes
when one is scraping the last few globs
of guacamole out of the container with
one’s finger and is saddened because
the accompanying tortilla chips have
been reduced to crumbs.

The dog wasn’t embarrassed of me.
She was busy cleaning the remnants
of egg salad from the inside of the
old butter dished I’d packed it away
in.

I’d already packed what had been enough
for a decent sandwich away in my guts
using tortilla-chip spoons,
doing my best not to ***** more
silverware than I had to.

The hour was almost up;
I had to be back at the office
in about 15 minutes.

We,
the dog and I,
took this small measure of time
as an opportunity to listen to a
couple of songs…

one by Iron Maiden.
the other by John Coltrane.

While the discs spun,
the dog wiped any excess
egg salad or tortilla chip crumbs
from her muzzle
onto
the living room carpet,
by sliding around
on her face.

It was funny to watch.

I’ll have to be sure and not
tell Angela about it.

Soon enough,
it’s once more around the yard
dear doggie,
a Marlboro for me,
another few hours at the office,
little friend,
and I’ll sail back home
to thee.


*
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019

You are my sisters child not mine.
I think you were almost four back then.
it was so very long ago.
Your beauty astounded me.
You had me smitten then
and if truth be known
As you do now.

We were having a shore lunch by the lake.
The lake trout sizzled
in its butter on the barbeques.
When naked as a jaybird
You jumped from the dock.
Disappearing into the lakes deep waters
Into the world of minnows and trout

I jumped in to save you
but you were already at the surface
swimming in doggie paddle fashion.
Refusing my grip
in fierce independence.
A trait you still possess.
I saw the big sign
Danger No swimming
but I let you go staying close to you.
You were kept buoyant
by the fruits of the young
by life’s power that flowed from you

And for an hour
you stayed in that water.
You won’t remember I am sure
But I saw you forming
the great woman
that you became
As you scorned my help.
And swam to the dock
lifting yourself
onto its platform.
That’s the moment we clicked
Man and woman child
friends forever
an eternal unbreakable bond.

I feel invisible
Yet you claim(ed) I am the air you breathe
And perhaps like air I am always present,
But presently forgotten

The heaviness of your hush is crushing me with empty blows
This silence leads me to wander down a path cloaked in a heavy mist
That whispers harsh truths such as:
Our hopeless, fictitious, drawn out infatuation is like
A library book that was checked out last March
You underlined and doggie-paged the first few chapters
And then left it on your shelf to collect dust all of April and May

I foolishly kept begging you to finish the book
Read the last sentence
Take time to skim over the epilogue
Please
Find your way to the back cover

I foolishly ignored your “I can’t”s

And now it’s late August and our love is long overdue,
In the opposite sense of what the phrase typically means

I write with angry lead because
I am too stubborn to admit I just filled a trash bin with tissues
And that the cuffed sleeves of my flannel
Are damp like grass’s morning dew

I have so much more to say,
Although I cannot find the words
To say anything more than



You should’ve written.

Because two weeks of nothing
Was enough for me to realize that you are just a passing breeze
Seldom present, presently becoming something of the past.

I can't wait until I see you again Lizzie.
Only one night and I miss you.
Morning isn't the same,
without waking up to you kissing me on the nose.
You nuzzle up next to me, all warm and cozy under the blanket,
I don't want to get up, just lay there all day.
But when your not here, I wake up and I need to get moving.
Doing different activities, and playing games, until the day is over.
But, at night I miss you again.
I can't wait to lie in the hammock with you,
And sip lemonade,
As you lick some from your cup,
With a happy smile,
And then you give me a kiss,
Leaving a sugary residue.
I love you Lizzie,
I hope you aren't getting into too much trouble,
And I can't wait to see you again,
When I get home, we can bark at the bird,
And chase squirrels, and sneak snacks between meals,
And best of all, snuggle under the blanket,
I'll see you soon my number one friend.

My doggie he whistles a song through his nose
On this Thanksgiving his story is told
He waits for the birdie to perch on his nose
Then with a swift move he swallows it whole
Feet, beak, and feathers, everything goes
Down through his neck to his stomach you know
Well even a little dumb doggie knows this
The taste of a big juicy turkey is bliss

Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I wanna eat a bird
I wanna eat a bird

Jack La Lane lived a long long time
He told me the secret to his long long life
Don't eat a pig and don't eat red meat
Don't eat a duck it is very bad luck
Don't eat Italian, French food, Chinese...
But you can eat plenty yes plenty of these
A chicken a turkey is all you will need
If you want to live to one hundred and three

Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I wanna eat a bird
I wanna eat a bird
Bird bird bird bird bird
Bird bird bird bird bird...