Accidents happen in the Spring.
Babies are born from left-over
Autumn bonfires,
Never properly extinguished.
The sun should shine for an extra hour
So I can finish “The Burial of the Dead.”
Small dogs can escape out doors
Opened for a breath of fresh Spring air.
If there had been a screen on the door...
If it had been a cat...
If it had been raining...
If the sun had set sooner...
If the stranger had been kinder...
Would April accidents happen?
Instead, a sad woman cries,
Ah, nao. Agrander a Deus.
Nao por favor. Mitzi.

We can't plan for mistakes.
We call them accidents.

The Tall One, they taunt me
They leave me to die
Forced from my shelter
To rot here outside

Food? Less than scarce
Water can't be found
Can't even search
Hard grey dirt covers ground

The Tall One has left
Fear I won't see them again
My anguish is deep
I howl in pain

But what's this I see
Through strange clear wall?
Tall One with food and water
Coming down hall!

I never been so scared!
Hurray! I am saved!
Don't leave me again Tall One
Or I'll wind up in grave

i killed a gnat on my shirt today
and now he sits there dead
next to a hole
which is starting to look
more and more
like his twin brother.
both black spots reminding me
of the ***** dishes and laundry
and the difference between dogs
in the city and country.

walking rounds in wilson ave.
its such a sight to see
the looks that all the people give
to my dog Richaro and me

its like they have never seen
a poodle with a man
have they never been to
the show in Birmingham

perhaps it is the haircut
that grows unevenly
covering the head and tail
but none of the body

or perhaps it is the little shoes
with itty bitty bows
funny, maybe, to wear such things
without baby toes

i could be wrong, for it may
the amount of attitude
turning up a tail to strangers
not really in the mood

so many problems there may be
from bad breath to muddy paws
the nasty things left on the streets
"you know that there are laws..."

but truly the pair of us
are not such a shame to see
you have not met Richaro yet
you have met only me

I hear a soft woof.
Bleary eyes peer at the clock:
3:03 a.m.
But time is of no matter
to a watchdog.
He stands stiff
ears perked
starting at the window.

The noise he makes
remind me of the Cowardly Lion:

Rrrrhuff
Softly
RrrrrrrrHUFF

He warns an imaginary intruder
or perhaps a neighbor
that he won't stand for their
feet near our sidewalk.

And although the danger isn't real
I'm grateful and proud.
Tell him he's a good boy,
but to get back in bed.

I was robbed once.
That's why I got him.

Dogs are odd funny creatures,
they're big and small with all sorts of features.

And every once in a while,
if given a smile,
They can be the very best teachers.

Your words strip me bare
My words address you up
■    □    ■    □    ■    □    ■    □    ■    □    ■
once the boy of youth was not contaminated
the boy knew only sadness or happy

Frogs , lizards , and puppy dogs
creeks , trees , summer breeze
○    ●    ○    ●    ○    ●    ○    ●    ○    ●    ○
Don't ask of me the answers to the questions
You carry in your black brief case
☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆
The tide fascinates the little boy
Sitting by the bridge for hours to see the ebb

The moon is the star he wishes upon
No one said any indifference
♤    ♡    ♢    ♧    ♤    ♡    ♢    ♧    ♤
On cool Washington grass he would lay at night , just for a glimpse of Telestar

In the haze of August days on Florida's bays
He fought sharks eye to black soulless eye
□    ■    □    ■    □    ■    □    ■    □    ■    □
The dreams grow old , cataract on my memories's sight , turn cold , die

My dreams once protected my life like scales
From the largest Tarpon covered realm

#    #    #    #    #    #    #    #    #    #

Those dog days of summer
Near forgotten and gone,
Are stored for the winter,
And remembered in song.

The dogs' days of winter
Tell a different tale,
Of dogs pulling sleds
In Alaska for mail;
Or searching the Alps
Bringing whiskey and ale,
Panting and pulling
In hills, waters and dales.

Siberian Huskies,
The Great Pyrenees,
The Alaskan Malamute,
Run off their tails
Battling death and disease.

The Keeshond  
Doesn't wear
Wooden clogs,
Like the Newfie
And Wolfhound,
They're winter work dogs.

If working in snow
Isn't enough to freeze fur,
Look to the Lab,
In frigid waters
In layers of warm flab
Helping fishermen,
Or retrieving a lad.
These warm furied friends
Will work til their end.

The dog days of summer
Ran off with the pack,
Leaving the dogs
Of our winters
To haul, trail and track.