The Dog Speaks Poem by Michael Salcman

I'm only half-asleep so I know you're standing there
wondering if I'm asleep. Nope.
It's not easy to rest under this table—
for one thing, there's a strong downward slope
and gravity's got me half tipped out of my basket
like an apple by Cezanne.
Talk about a flat world!
For another, I can't get away from these colors,
the red floor tiles, orange table leg
and pink wall burning on my lids like the sun.
Then again I'm never alone; the kids think a gray dog is cute
and I'm the only dog in the room. I was bribed
(that's my excuse) with a bone
and a bowl of fresh water. Really,
I wish you wouldn't stare—it's extra hard to be an icon
when you're not an odalisque and have no hair.
Here's the inside dope, he wore a vest when he painted them
but saved his housecoat for me. I liked sitting for him,
he was never rude and spared me his violin.
I think I look very dignified, not naked, just nude.