Dog-Tired, Oh, What a Way to Treat a Friend
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
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.