A Master Conversationalist
I watched my dog pathetically attempt
to jump onto a sofa
and fail time and again.
It looked into my eyes
and i saw the heart of a beast
roaming the wilds,
and it whispered
'what has been done to me? '
and i looked down
at my weak, flabby body
and had no answer.
so i comforted him
by telling him about my day
Of 8 hours at work, dead eyed
Of 2 hours in five mile an hour traffic
Of 4 hours of television
Of ½ gram of weed
Of 1 night alone in an apartment,
Using intoxication as an excuse
To talk to a dog.
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Comments about this poem (A Master Conversationalist by Gus Schreiber )
- SPICES OF LIFE, Philo Yan
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