Notes About The Poem
For 1451 Any 2026 Poem Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
The Backward Walking Dog
Waking up with bleary eyes
to a chicken ovum as it fries,
I brushed aside ten thousand lies,
my memory to jog -
a vision of the backward walking dog.
Had my brain been so badly mangled
it could not be disentangled.
Yes! Before me, the image dangled.
I could see it through a fog
(of pea soup) - the backward walking dog.
Could it be the devil's nature,
an omen or fate's nomenclature?
The body from a westbound freighter
thrown into a bog -
it was the backward walking dog.
Perhaps in this rancid rubbage heap,
philosophy or something deep
could make me return to sleep,
knowing, I am but a cog,
and forget the backward walking dog.
A visage or a psychic scourge,
no act of man or God will ever purge,
and there is no truth to yet emerge -
just crawling from that hollow log -
the backward walking dog.
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