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Poem

On a whim a black lab waited
where other people do.
At a bus stop man created,
he smoked a cig too.

His paws outstretched ready to pounce
onto the shuttle of spluttering fumes.
He'd ran away and this was his last chance
to leave the humans painless; still humming their tunes.

This bus would take him to fields of squirrels
To an old friend he had played poker with
Where the loquacious woodpecker always trills
He'd have to do all this before his joints got stiff

Staying close to strangers legs,
He lifts one paw on.
The sight of his owners, he begs:
Will you please be gone?

I am dying, you cannot see,
you must not see ever.
You'll forget the posh afternoon tea.
Those traipsing, frolicking memories lost forever.

It's easier if you let me step on this bus,
Wave goodbye.
I'm still not sure what that does
but I know you'll always try.

Ears floppy, mouth drooling; sometimes I wish I'd played ball a bit more.
Eyes gloomy, paws aching; those times were never a bore.

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