A solid narrative, Max. Interesting how it swerves to those end rhymes in the final 2 stanzas…
Doug
> On Sep 21, 2016, at 8:44 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Dogs’ Breakfast
>
> Mustering what strength lingers
> at this extremity of age,
> I clench and sit up, fingers
> reach down for outdoor footwear
> (velcro for quick fastening)
> then bedside for spectacles.
>
> Yes, you two dogs, I’m hastening -
> with you ahead - downstairs;
> your meal of the day, whether
> winter’s dark or summer’s early dawn,
> must not be postponed further.
>
> The old boy lurches to his bowl,
> shut behind the bathroom door;
> the rambunctious girl Labrador
> starts fast on hers lest he steal from
> her hungry fellow-breakfaster.
>
> She’s ready first to take the leash
> awaiting her at the front door.
> I’m already in jacket and cap -
> one hides pajamas, one bad hair.
>
> Trot to the elevator, trot hot-
> foot through the lobby, trot
> hot-foot through the tall metal
> gates that clang behind us.
>
> Already we’re on the green verge:
> here, an hour before, sprinklers
> rinsed and kept it green, and
> the line of dogwood trees stand
> in dignity and fruitfulness.
> Snaffle a fallen berry, must you?
>
> Dogwood by definition can’t
> be poisonous, I guess. Back
> to the lobby and lift, quick -
> upstairs Senior waits his turn.
> Changing of the guard, transferring
> of the leash. Repetition.
>
> May we now relax? The blackest
> crows of Bellevue Avenue East
> resume their search for breakfast, hop
> back down from tree and car top.
>
> Sunday breakfast glumly ensues.
> What says the online world of news?
> Natural and manmade disasters
> compete, history rebukes, futures
> are dire. At this extremity of time
> man and dogs share a lucky home.
>
> Capitol Hill, Seattle, November 2016
Douglas Barbour
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https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Four or five couplets trying to dance
into Persia. Who dances in Persia now?
A magic carpet, a prayer mat, red.
A knocked off head of somebody on her broken knees.
Phyllis Webb
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