Hardwood Tap Dancer
At the oak door
Their young golden retriever—
Who chewed through the metal
Water pipe and flooded their rental
Townhouse
Totally—
That infamous hound, now most
Head wagging the air to tailed excess,
Greets me like his long-lost buddy
In a bounding tap dance of ‘paws’
Clack, clack, Clacking
Across their shiny hardwood floor
To a sliding dognail-scratched stop,
Frenzied movement and pointed-pup
Cold wet nosing;
With joy, he’s the wonder
Jumper
Thumper
Prancer
Dancer
Of
Dog
Here
Ness.
1st pub. in The Greensilk Journal
--
Indy Pacer Racing Down the Freeway
Taking it easy, zooming down 101,
California-coasting on a 3-dog night—
Suddenly screeching brakes--red metal tails;
Me, muttering doggish words,
I jam my stop pedal, scanning
Sluggish crawls of tired cars ahead,
Doing under 10 in the fast lane;
Where's the eye-goggled wreck?
Lo and below! way up ahead,
It’s a small mongrel, running,
Only a little blurred brush of fur
Paws fast down dim-lit pavement
In front of a Honda Civic lady;
Howling down, outrunning the moonlight
The rest of us, 'paused' gas-guzzlers hanker
Down until a Ford trucker swerves
Off the un-freeway, jumps out,
Makes a mad grab for the sprinting pooch,
But the small canine switches lanes,
Into the doggy good night, an Indy Pacer,
Ahead of our growls on this paved terrain
--One lone barking whelp, night's terrier,
Howling down, outrunning the moon
And all of us 'paused' smoking cars.
1st pub. in The Write Room poetry magazine,
and in previous pub. poetry book,
selah river
(based on actual happening)
--
The Canine Trail Memorial
Puppy pulling on his collared leash,
In the verdant high rolling hills of San Ramon,
We wind along a lariat of blacktop,
Two 2-legs and their best friend, at a dogtrot,
This weaving trail sequestered
In the intertwining valleys,
Resorts and multi-million homes,
Below green cattle-grazing heights.
Yes, we fast-pace this pedigreed path
Through lush grass near sunset,
Sol's corona glow lowing in the west.
At a cross-path, we stop, hug and brush
Our Black Lab pup,
"Atta boy, ;Scout.”
Next to us rises up a short telephone-pole
Banded with 33 canine collars in rainbow
Colors and dangling metal ornaments.
A modern totem, it's a pooch memorial
To beloved deceased barkers who led
And sniffed this trail, their caring givers
Out for sunset dog-pulled hurried strolls.
But as we ascend from that canine shrine
Headed back In the hilly shaded dusk,
I, in a muttering "tailing" mood,
Lean over to my wife and whisper low,
While giving Scout a hug, "Doggone it."
1st pub. in vox poetica
and the pub. poetry book,
selah river
In the Light,
Daniel Wilcox
