Boldly, a Dog Poem
My dog Curfew figured out how
to scale the fence. When our paths
crossed I turned my back, hearing
him trade growls with a mechanic.
I was ashamed. Like when
the neighborhood snuffled over
our stuff in the garage. “That’s
Hibbett’s dog,” someone blabbed,
as if shoving the most secret me
under the school’s flood lamps.
Turns out Jimmy Stewart’s poem,
warbled sweetly on Carson one night, isn’t
bad. His dog didn’t mind, wasn’t
loyal. Just that extra lump
in the bed, soughing
into the blackness.
We know what he’s talking about.
“Oh there you are. And here am I.
This could work out.”