Why I Bought a Dog Bed
Priced at 39 politically-incorrect dollars at
the Super Wal-Mart, where I privately confess
I may sometimes be found, there are dozens
in a bin, squashy and round. Designed,
Yes, for Man's Best Friend, but useful for a rest
in an unlikely nest in which to curl infant-style,
until asked to fetch, or someone finds Baby
Moses, parting bulrushes beside the lake.
Among the tall grasses, a conductor tunes up
masses of froglet violins, granddaddy-deep
bassoons, and amphibian percussion
played orchestrated only at dusk. Then, it's
deep uterine bedtime lulled by concerts sublime,
and as darkness drops its mantle, busy minds
unwind, cares decelerating, the cradle song's
abating, and sleep's a fait accompli'.
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