Dog-Tired, Oh, What a Way to Treat a Friend
Just because
I’m willing to sit
By your side, wagging
My tail and looking worshipful,
Doesn’t mean I’m forever content,
That I’m ready to say
The world is great
And everything I see is even more
Like the universe is one
Magnificent-delectable-bone.
Well, I do. So chew on that.
But all’s not that kind of dream,
And when every once in a while
I hear things like “I’m really
In the Dog-house today” as though
That place where I can lie quietly,
And lazily observe this world’s vicissitudes
Could be something so horrible
That if one of you had to do the same
It would be like slithering in a bowl of slime,
Or that fellow last week complaining
About those miserable “dog-days”,
When what he really meant was the heat.
Just what is there about me
That becomes a put-down when it comes to man?
And women too. Like I heard
This lady call her husband a “Dirty Dog”.
Doesn’t that just mean he didn’t wash?
Sometimes I’m ready to plug up my ears to all those slurs.
Are they as worn and shabby as an over-used book?
Is it actually so bad, like they say, to have “gone to the dogs“?
And I was really quite down in the dumps
As to that “dog in the manger” they’re all talking about.
Ready! Almost. But not quite. Then, there it is, a stand in the street:
A giant sign.
My mouth waters. I jump for joy.
“Hot Dog”, I yelp.
A meal for a king.