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The Doggie Diner

April 5, 2014


Angus Tucktail sat in his custom
doggie buggy enjoying a moment
of self reflection at a local diner

his human overlord was otherwise
occupied leaving him to guard the
table and her Gucci/Coach-hybrid purse

as a canine of discriminating
taste he hoped that the chicken
strips would be to his liking

despite his lack of opposable
thumbs and an inability to use
a straw he’d done well for himself

he was the spoiled-rotten pet of a
twenty-six-year-old part-time model
and full-time hypochondriac

he knew he had it good because
he had friends who had to walk
on a leash everywhere they went

his father told stories of how his
grandmother fought for fetid scraps
of food in the alleyways of Edinburgh

countless times his mother had
been referred to in the coarse
term that started with a “B”

he saw his mistress returning to
the table and found his revelry
broken so he pulled a indolent face

meanwhile he waited impatiently
for a nearby fire hydrant to
become unoccupied

  1. Rich permalink

    Such a great poem. I continue to be impressed with your command of the language. I must say I’m a bit jealous. I’ve actually written a lot of poetry, but none so clever as well as thought provoking. Keep it up. Can’t wait for the next installment.

    • Thanks, Rich. It is gratifying to read your words of praise.

      We are all the sum of our past experiences—both good and bad. As my older cousin, your intelligence, quest for higher education and excellent sense of humor were a positive and important roll in my growing up, and in who I turned out to be. So, don’t be jealous—you are a part of everything I write here!

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