Once every year or two a poem comes to me. Sometimes on a hike, sometimes driving, sometimes when my head hits the pillow. Until now, I have written them down, stuffed them in drawers and forgotten about them. But now I have a blog, so I can share my flashes of poesy with the world.
Or, you know, you three.
Sleeping With The Animals
Zoey
sleeps curled in the Vee of my knees,
tiny twitching, dreaming
girly dreams of dainty things
like pretty clothes and fangs.
Gus
slumbers beside me,
his fur soft as a doyenne's stole,
snores cutting the night
like a serrated knife, trying in vain
to carve a coconut. But
Eddie
lies on the floor,
my sleeping dog prince,
silent, stately, his heavy head cradled
by his sizable paws.
Dreaming of more ways to be
inscrutable.
