Betsy……..by Robert M. Katzman
By Robert M. Katzman © April 30, 2012 (my 62nd 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
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 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
And 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
and
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
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
Slow minutes
Passed
Mystified
Exhausted
Thirsty
She lived
We never discussed it
Many years later…
Betsy
Comes to Bed
Each Night
Slowly
Pawing her way
Panting
Up the
Small box
to the
Chair
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
Shoulder
Her warm body
Leaning
Heavily
Against me
Betsy:
Unexpected
New Love
in
My Life
Moving
Too
Swiftly
Towards the End
of
Hers
Again
Sarah’s Dog?
Joyce’s Dog?
My Dog
About the writer and his other life in Skokie, Illinois:
My store Twitter: @MagazineMuseum
My stories Twitter: @ChicagoKatzman
Bob Katzman’s Magazine Museum: 100,000 periodicals back to 1576!
Wall of Rock: 50 years of cool Rock periodicals on display & for sale
4906 Oakton St. (8000 north and 4900 west) Skokie, Ill 60077
(847)677-9444 Mon-Fri: 10 am to 5 pm / Weekends: 10 am to 2 pm
Katzman’s Publishing Company site: www.FightingWordsPubco.com
Katzman’s online non-fiction stories: www.DifferentSlants.com
Poetry? For me, writing poetry is not an option.
It’s a response to emotion. Like cigarette smoke,
it’s fast-flowing, shapeless and with little time to capture it.
Writing poetry in an imperative. I say what I feel compelled to say.
I sell my five published books via mail order and accept major credit cards.
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I’m also available for hire to read my true Chicago stories to organizations
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Feel free to call me at the number above.