Poetry

Rescue pup

Rescue pup

Do I remember being a pet, or

Is it just a dim wish?  I step up

To the bars, my water dish tips;

I swish my matted tail, loll my

tongue in my best smile.

Someone is looking my way,

or at the purebred pup the

next cage over, a border collie

everyone knows is smart and

useful for herding, in case they

get a flock of sheep in the suburbs.

I come from a long line of willing

Bitches and fence-jumpers.  “I like the

scruffy one, “ a little boy chirps. “Oh,

I think she has fleas,” says his mother,

grabbing his hand, heading to

the cat room.

                                       I turn around

three times, lie down where there

are no snakes and no takers. 

The  intern frowns at my spilled water

as if I had peed in my space, barks

out “bad dog!” yanks the door open,

leads me out to the run for my sunny

hour of communion with other

shelter dogs. 

The fence is too high,

Daddy, or I would sail over, feel leaves

Under my paws again, smell pheasants

Or maybe ducks or rabbits.