What can be done
for the damn old dogs
knobby of kneecap
with frosted muzzles
They who presumed
so much one time
so hobbled by
arthritis now
That can't be a ticket
you are writing me officer
It must be a citation
for sky high fidelity
For endless love
A lifetime of serving
give or take the
occasional knockdown
which even then
was a token,
a placeholder
for all that was love
They care not for poems
well maybe a little
what they seek is the touch
of the other upon them
It is what makes living
apart from their kind
acceptable, an
improvement even
We hoist them to heaven
with our bipedal ways
they tear the mowing
of a handful of words
They wait even now
eyes cloudy from wind
the hand is coming and
they greet it, red tongue
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem