SAD-EYED DOG

By Anthony R. Castle

My sad-eyed dog with the bad old legs

sits by the window.

Her pale face a ghost in the glass.

Red-rubber ball at the ready

she waits

patient as a jungle sniper.

She's a house-dog really

both her feeders have day-jobs

so she is accustomed to instant joy

and frequent disappointments.

Anyone ,who's had a sad-eyed dog

knows that Old Bill was right

about the love of a brute

versus the gossamer fidelity of mere man.

There is something to be said

about a creature

that would eat a one hundred dollar bill

and yet finds a slow roll on warm grass

better than all the cold dead gold in the world. It is a cruel God that makes us

outlive such a one.

And i know

that when she leaves for the place

where sausages grow like weeds

and red-rubber balls fall

from the trees like apples

there will be a hole in my heart

that all the liquor in Texas couldn't fill.

And in the night

as the moon paces my room through slitted eyes i will strain to hear her

stir and settle.

i will listen

to hear her chase a squirrel in her dreams.

i will listen

for a long long long time.