My Dog Paxton
My Dog Paxton
Where cedars rust the road
And maples mat the margin
I walk with dogs.
Pluto, Sasha and, old Paxton,
Dead the last and he the lead
Wherever we go by trails of scent.
Bossy he, the border collie cross.
Faces the wind that rustles the leaves
Paces reflections that ripple the puddles
Black and white, there be no cuddles
For him, the alpha dog of sturdy jaw
No scratching of his head, that’s his law.
He will mouth the arm firmly of he who tries.
He is a dead dog that never lies.
Pluto and Sasha seek attention
Look to me, to give direction
Always begging for affection.
Paxton has no demands but to leave him alone
He offers me the friendship of a crystal gazing stone
Where I can sometimes see myself.
He always keeps his sovereignty,
He never stoops to become my servant.
The friendship and mystery of a full moon
With a reserved intimacy
And no exaggerations:
He licks neither my knees nor hand
And chooses which words to understand.
He never invades my clothes with his snout
Or rolls into bed like the others
His confident eyes show a sweet caring for me
A loyalty reserved only for a friend,
In a silent life never demanding.
When he died I planted a cedar tree over his bones
And from that tree we start our walks
Even now, where the cedars rust the road.
Copyright © Wallace Du Temple | Year Posted 2016
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment