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A Poem a Day into the Millennium 27 November 1999


by the front door lies a drunkard's dog 
his purgatory ends at last call 
an old wound like a tree bole 
throbs on his leg 
it is more than two years now 
since the javalinas bit him up 
germs swine are more used to 
live under his skin 
the cyst is deep in the cartilage 
he can't walk without whimpering 
on this winter night his pain is plain as starlight 
bright and round and old as the moon 
fine people spend good money here 
and step right over him 
i have faith but no money 
or i'd steal him and see what the vet can do 
a word to the wise to his master 
could just maybe get him shot 
even crippled like that he is game enough still 
to turn up smelling of having been skunked 
when i see him i bless him 
as best i can 
he's the last one i say good night to here 
rubbing his shoulder like an impotent god 

Copyright 01/99 Robert N. Erman

image of stork.to Bob's page.....to archives..image of stork

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