Walk the Dog

Quick step
 out the door.
 Leave home.
 Don't
 breathe.
No bristle
 if winds
 are unknown.
It's good
 you give me
 a neck turn,
 a what now,
 what's next?
At the park
 everyone wants
 to play ball,
 belly laugh,
 sit at tables,
 drink cherry
 blossom air.
 For years.
A wiry dog
 runs so happy.
 Gusto, gusto,
 little blond dog!
And, now
 your tongue's
 draped over
 one side
 of your mouth.
Isn't it
 always
 like that?
 You thirst
 for home.
We begin
 again.
 Slower,
 sweeter
 than before.
The walk.
 The labyrinth
 home.
[Re-playing Mary's prompt 
with a new poem for Real Toads]
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24 thoughts on “Walk the Dog

    1. Sorry to hear this Jim. I know how hard it is losing a beloved pet. My heart would always go out to those older dogs struggling with arthritis just to walk with their master.

    1. Mary Oliver lives in my bones, without me even realizing it. I hadn’t meant to make this poem an and after Oliver one, but one of her favorite books of mine is “Thirst.”

      1. OOOO! I haven’t read that one yet. I can definitely feel that she lives in your bones. Until I met blogger Christy, Emily Dickinson was the only poet I knew. She introduced me to Mary’s poetry and I’ve been changed ever since. I know that’s why I migrate to your words. Gorgeous 🙂

  1. Love this. Plus, it’s the third time in as many days that the notion of “labyrinth” has come to my attention; it’s the little synchronicities in life whose mystery keeps me guessing . . . and smiling. 🙂

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