An older poem ~ I just heard that the Donal and Mad Max of whom I wrote here died recently within two days of each other. I missed them...and will all the more now.
Dogs and Poetry
All-day suckers, she called them;
one for each of her boys–
Donal, Mad Max, sleek Arrakis–
to gnaw when the long
Florida rains kept them indoors.
We were dogs and poetry,
she and I, dogs and poetry,
and I overlooked our mismatch
even as I did those marrow bones
scattered across her living room floor.
I’ve chewed the bones of us
long enough for all the flavor
to mix in uncertain memory
with the pleasures of some other time,
as her dogs have become my poetry.
It has stopped raining;
I want to run in the yard.
Stephen Brooke ©2002, 2004
This poem took first place in the 2003 Poetry in the Park competition in Jacksonville FL. It is also in my chapbook, Pieces of the Moon, with my pen and ink illustrations.