Tag Archives: dog

10 Poems in 20 Minutes (Feb. 8th)

I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes
Day February 8th

Poem 1:
What is this thing over there?
I didn’t not want it there.
It should not be.
This won’t end well.
This new dog that follows me.
I like her. I shouldn’t.
I do not want to like her.
She is not the kind of dog I like,
Not fuzzy, or warm.
She’s skiddish and jumpy and fast.
I’ll do something wrong,
I’ll hurt her on accident.
She won’t like me best,
She’ll like the people that feed her.
I’m not getting attached.

Poem 2:
I hadn’t realized I’d heard it all before.
I’ll get better,
He says.
It’ll just be like this for a little while.
Just wait.
I don’t believe him.
I don’t want to believe him.
Because I told myself,
Stop changing people.
So I take them as they are,
I only sigh,
And try and decide to be calm.

Poem 3:
He makes a joke.
He waits for the laugh.
He says it again,
Maybe you didn’t hear him.
If they laugh this time,
He’ll save it,
He’ll use it later,
Again.
Because he made them laugh.
They look at him,
If he makes them laugh.

Poem 4:
I don’t want a child.
I don’t want what’s inside my head passed on.
The suicidal nature running along my family branches,
Maybe those can stop with me.
But I’ll wait for someone to change my mind,
I’ll wait for the swaying argument,
I can’t defend.
Because I think,
My brain will have nothing to do with the matter.

Poem 5:
Find me somewhere to go,
Where I can just sit.
I can wrap my arms around my knees,
And be given my coffee in peace.
They’ll know my name.

Poem 6:
Talk to me please.
I want to tell you everything,
But you,
You won’t listen,
And you’ll shrug me off,
And not hear.
I need the next person I tell me to,
To remember,
Like the rest forgot to.

Poem 7:
No matter who I’m talking to,
I imagine it’s you.
And I feel safer.

Poem 8:
He’s going to be telling me
For the rest of my life,
The same things he says now,
Every week,
He’ll tell me how to improve.
And I can’t stop it.
I’ll always need to be fixed.

Poem 9:
They want their ashes –
Comingled –
After they die.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
What if someone’s femur is in there on accident too?

Poem 10:
I loved it when it rained.
Now it makes me sad.
When I don’t have a home,
I’ll get wet and cold,
And have nowhere to go.

The Dog Who Watched the House

Another story for you, written in 20 minutes:
7:15 p.m.

We lived in a manse. The house is square, red brick, and old. One side faces the road. It’s called County Road on our address. One side faces the graveyard then the Church. The fence pens in cows behind our property. And then it’s corn in all directions.
It was my Dad’s house to me. Mom’s was far away. Dad’s house was quiet. Dad took a walk down the road for miles every morning. Alone. He came back to the quiet house when we were at our Mom’s.
Dad didn’t like pets. He didn’t understand them. I think he sees why people like pets, as companions, things to be proud of. But, they’re a waste of money, time and energy. What good do they do? They take up space. They eat things. They have to be provided for, and looked after. Oh, the vet bills alone! Why would you pay for a leech?
Dad warned us one night coming home. “Girls, be careful, there’s a dog outside the house. I don’t want you to be scared.” He told us he’d call animal control, and the second they showed up, the dog would vanish. “He won’t bother you, just leave him be.”
I watched with big open eyes out the window of the car as I spotted this great big dog. He looked like a German Shepherd, but bigger. Great big pointy ears stood on top of his head with little hairs coming out the sides. He had black-brown fur, thin fur, with lots of speckles of gray. His belly was almost all silver.
He didn’t look mean to me. But this was Dad’s house; Dad didn’t want him here. He didn’t belong here. Dad couldn’t get rid of him. The dog seemed happy to be there. I liked that he didn’t listen when he got yelled at. And Dad would yell at him. The dog sat and watched and smiled.
He followed Dad on walks. He guarded the house. Dad tried his best to chase him off. “He has no collar. He won’t leave.” I wanted to invite him in the house. I knew what Dad would say, I didn’t ask.
Every weekend I saw him. I didn’t pet him. He didn’t hurt us. He’d follow the car to the end of the driveway. He seemed happy to be alive. He sat next to the tree that bloomed pink little petal leaves. He sat there for months. I thought Dad might secretly like him.
I asked what happened to the dog. Dad said he finally left. He said it with a smile. We took a walk along the road that weekend. There was a skeleton on the riverbed. Maybe it was a deer.
The dog loved my Dad. Whether he lost his mind or not. Even if he had another master and got confused. He protected. Dad left him to stay outside. We never touched him. That great big dog, who had no name, outsmarted my father, and got to stay for a little while.

Aren’t You Suprised (Can’t Sleep Day Four)

it’s me again, awake at an odd hour. i thought i’d write you all a little poem.

The dog in the upstairs hallway threw up on the floor.
I saw it when I went to get water.
Gross and pink
I pretended. I see nothing.
So I didn’t have to clean it up
I use that excuse so I don’t clean your messes up either.
I don’t see what problems they cause