2013 A Month of Somedays

When poetry strikes

I walk the dog around the park,
Muttering a poem.
He looks askance
as I repeat lines
to etch them on gray parchment.
I nod distractedly to leery passers-by,
hoping I don’t look crazy
reciting rhyme to a dog.

If I ask the postal worker for paper and pen,
will he reach for his pepper spray, instead?
Will the news report “Postman repels park poet,”
“Park poet provokes postman,”
or simply
“Poet goes postal”? mjh

12-16-02

2013 A Month of Somedays

legacy

I’ve become the caretaker
of a small collection of works
by a minor poet
who abruptly stopped writing
when his muse moved on.

Did he feel like a man
whose mistress has taken
a younger lover?
Or was this as bad as
the day the dog died?
He never could say. mjh

04/04/13

2013 A Month of Somedays

Billy

It doesn’t seem the least bit odd
that all the members of the orchestra
are dogs.
Some in tuxedos,
some in black gowns,
sitting, waiting — good dogs! —
for the conductor
to raise a long meaty bone.
Some clear their throats,
some drool,
none look away for a moment.

It doesn’t seem the least bit odd
that everyone in the audience
is in a tutu.
Men and women dressed for the
ballet, though this is a concert,
each holding a pen and pad
planning to pounce
to snatch some new idea.
As if Beethoven for Dogs
weren’t enough.

It doesn’t seem the least bit odd
in the end
when the conductor puts down his baton,
most of the meat shaken off
to the delight of the First Chair.
He turns and bows
and then I recognize him:
the poet laureate,
the old dog himself. mjh

8/13/02

"It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds." — Sam Adams