Different Slants

by Robert M. Katzman © April 30, 2012 (my 62^nd birthday)

Long ago

Her thin back

to the wide murky

Fast-flowing

Mississippi River

*

Her long

White-blond hair

Tousled like

Autumn Hay

In the cold river’s wind

*

Random Strands

Blowing across

Her pale complexion

My four-year-old Daughter

Sarah slowly trudged

 Up the

Steep Riverbank

To where I was

Intently exploring a

Flea Market

*

Closely followed

by my

Guilty Wife Joyce

An Identical

 Conspiratorial Mask

On both of

Their faces

*

And a tiny

Dog

Cupped in

Sarah’s tiny hands

*

We vowed

“No more Dogs!”

After the

Last One died

Now Joyce

Was using our

Living Doll

To entrap me

*

No place to hide

I meet them halfway

On the steep path

And brace myself

To look at the

Fluffy mutt

*

Soft

Floppy-eared

Brown, Black and White

Pink wet tongue

Hanging down

Dripping

Her big eyes

Evolved to seduce

Another damn

Flea-bitten

Heartbreaker

I think to myself

*

“She’s a Pure Bred Beagle!”

Purrs Joyce

Like I care who its

Damn Parents are

“We found her in a box by the river!”

Squealed our

Two-legged puppy

Her Sea-Green Eyes

Encircling my heart

*

“Only Forty Dollars!”

Smiled Joyce

And with their

Overwhelming force

I surrendered

*

Our weekend as

Tourists exploring

Galena, Illinois

Suddenly stopped

Our car became a

Mobile Doghouse

*

Sarah’s Dog?

Joyce’s Dog?

No one told the dog

Of course

She’s Bob’s Dog

Following me

Like a shadow

Everywhere

*

Dogs are universal

In our

Attachment

To them

Nationality/Religion/Gender/Politics

Makes no Difference

*

They are

Love

Wrapped up in Fur

*

I told Little Sarah

No Chocolate for Betsy

It’s a Killer for dogs

One day

Betsy swiftly snatched

A Hershey bar

From Sarah’s tiny

Sticky hand

*

Suddenly Betsy’s

Convulsing

Shaking

Choking

I held her in

My Arms

Praying to

He who sent us Dogs

*

Slow minutes passed

Mystified, Exhausted, Thirsty

She lived

Sarah’s eyes reflected

Her horror

We never discussed it

*

Many years later

Betsy comes to Bed

Each Night

Slowly pawing her way

Panting up the

Little wooden ladder

I made for her

Then up to the bed

*

She circles, collapses

Watches me

With those eyes

White Muzzle

Still beautiful

Clutch-able fur

Hanging loosely

*

Sometimes

She growls

In her sleep

Chasing Uncatchable

Rabbits & Squirrels

*

But inevitably

She ends the night

Her old head

Resting on my left shoulder

Her warm body

Leaning heavily against me

*

Betsy:

An unexpected New Love

 In my Life

Moving too swiftly

Towards the end of hers

Again

*

Sarah’s Dog?

Joyce’s Dog?

My Dog

*

(Betsy died in my arms on January 22, 2016)

(Joy died a year later, May 14, 2017)

(Sarah is twenty-five)

(I have no dog)

(I can’t)

**********************

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