Poezie

Man\'s Best Friend

1 min lectură·15 aprilie 2011

Mediu

You make me so sad, my hands hurt.

You make me so sad, I whimper in my sleep.

Like the toothless old pig-dog at the sheep-country pub,

my throat has a brick in its mouth.

I can barely swallow.

You make me so sad, I roam and roam

to get away from the ache.

Like an old dog running away from its mutilated tail,

I pad alongside the sea;

I nod at strangers-

at the Indian doctor and his jerky wife-

I walk past places with gardens I admire,

and, in the middle of the day,

I wander sadly by myself

past cardboard houses, unoccupied, and

intent and wordless builders

and cement mixers

over-heating in the sun.

You make me so sad,

because my canine fidelity is nothing to you

compared to all that you have:

your fleshy language made of tongues,

your peel-away, polaroid memories,

your nameless wife...(I dreamt of her.

Is it Ingrid? I bullied her...

Is it Gertrude?)

Sometimes, I hate you, though you are just a man.

I hate you the way I might hate a god,

but you are just a man.

003.529

Philomena van Rijswijk. “Man\'s Best Friend.” Atelier, Poezie.ro, https://poezie.ro/atelier/philomena-van-rijswijk/poezie/13977760/mans-best-friend

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