My Dog Is Not An Existentialist Poem by Sonny Rainshine

If my dog were an existentialist,
he might lay awake all night,
disturbed about the implications
of dog spelled backwards
and how it might add more responsibility
to his already onerous life.

He might wonder if his gnawed-down bone
is real or just perceived and even whether perception
exists or whether there’s a heaven
or whether there are dogs in heaven
and if so would he get in.

And what if humans don’t exist?
Who will take me for walks
and fill my water bowl
with fresh clean water?
I bark, but where does the sound go?
Are fleas saints in disguise?
Dare I ever scratch again?

Did Little Sheba come back?
What does it all MEAN!

But thankfully my dog
does not read Schopenhauer,
but never tires of Lassie reruns.