French bulldog Betty
I patrol the borders of my property I take my job seriously as head of security
If you see me watching you and think I look like fun just cross my border then you better run
The postman tried it once he should have known better crying out as he ran I have to post a letter
Then there was a man I think his name was mike I chased him away so fast he left behind his bike
Then the police came that was such a laugh
He dropped his radio as I chased him up the path
The garden came one day not knowing I was about left behind his gardening tool as I chased him out
Now my humans have had to keep a log of the injuries caused by me Betty the French bulldog
A creative process
disguised as a French Bulldog
has pooped in my mind-pot,
where I was complacently
growing small obscure weeds.
Muse me, or abuse me you poetry bug,
if you are a stinkbug, I will take it,
fake it until…
The Frenchie faux English Bulldog
licks a poetic banana smoothie
I have been working on like a dog.
The soft and gooey muse
shudders, goes insane
from a rare form of Gallic syphilis.
The dog poop,
is not processing well.
Fragments float in a soupy miasma:
said poop, a small annoying dog and
a smoothie.
But hey,
I think I can do something with that mix.
Poets know
that all kinds of ingredients
may be added to a mind-pot,
all we need do
is stir.
He drew the drapes, nothing caught his eye
it seemed that yesterday had replicated itself,
only today it had chosen a deeper of gray tint.
On balance, it could have been
the color of stale puke, for the night
had up-chucked its darkness into a
sickly yellow
morning bucket of bile.
Examining his mind, he ascertained by
the laborious task of magnifying
the inconsequential
that he was not clinically depressed
just bored.
Later that day he bought a black puppy,
to remind himself that he was apparently
no longer the center of the universe,
a position he had held
to be inviolate until now.
The demotion was irksome.
He took the French Bulldog to Walmart,
claiming loudly that it was a service animal
for he had need of a dumb friend.
His new dumb friend peed on him
in the candy aisle
and generally acted like it was the center
of the universe, a notion reinforced
by its many casual admirers.
That dog was having a great day,
and by the next day he felt it was quite acceptable
to be its little helper and general factotum,
for it absolutely beats
trying to play God 7 days a week
and no day of rest.
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