The Bulldog and Collie
My uncle gave me a dime store, ceramic bulldog,
brown and ugly. The size of a baseball, I wanted
to pitch it when my sister opened her white collie.
My squat bulldog, lopsided face, tooth showing,
and eyes shut, looked like a guy in a bar room brawl,
a boxer yelling, Hit me again, or a squished mud pie.
I wanted to be a collie, a loveable Lassie. Angry,
at being a bulldog, I hid my dog in a drawer.
Recently I asked my sister if she still had her collie,
but she had no memory of either dog. I didn't tell her
about the venerable bulldog sitting on my desk,
a fellow familiar with the shadow side,
and who, Buddha-like, waited for me
to be glad he was mine.
Thoughts on Thoughts
One cold day, drying myself after a shower,
I noticed my husband's towel hung over a heating vent.
If anything ever happened to him, I thought,
I'd get the warm towel bar.
I told him what had happened. He laughed and said,
I haven't thought about your demise since yesterday
when you ate the last chocolate.
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People Passing
By the grocery, a homeless man smokes.
Seeing me, he hides his cigarette,
stands up, nods his head, and says,
Ma'am, may you have a beautiful day.
His greeting follows me into the store.
I pick green beans, gather eggs and bread,
and, on leaving, plan to thank the man,
talk to him, but he's gone.
The neighborhood yardman unloads
his truck and emotions—he had
another fight with his son;
he just can't stop.
Later, at the beach -- a gull eyes
my Cayucos smoked-salmon taco, and
nearby, a boy buries his brother in the sand.
I say Great day! to a woman walking by—
she frowns and shrugs her shoulders.
On my evening walk, a man
parks his clunky red Thunderbird,
gets out, sets his puppy on the roof,
and reaches inside for packages. I say,
Cute dog, cute car, and pass by. Behind me, I hear
Ma'am! Ma'am! Cute car, cute dog . . . what about me?
I look back and smile at the disheveled man . . . so cute.
In bedI remember Browning's poem,
"Pippa Passes," about a little girl walking,
unaware of the effect she has on townspeople.
Thinking of the Pippas I passed today,
I wonder if one of them
lies in bed thinking of me.
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