Barking Dog

This dog barks
at silly things:
Tweedle Dee in a cowboy hat
getting in his car
in the village lot;
a racewalker hoofing it
on the bike path;
women with yoga mats
rolled under their arms;
the stuffed bear at the entrance
to Kings Yard;
laughing children running, screaming;
people on reclining bikes;
boys on skateboards;
dogs with pink bandanas;
cats in book store windows;
tourists dressed like hippies,
gawking at each other,
wondering if they're from town.

On days when it rains,
she sits in the window
waiting for something
to come along,
a bike, a motorcycle, anything.
She longs for a walk
through town
where there is no end
to silliness.
Let's go to work, I'll say
and she'll run for her leash,
tail wagging so hard
she can hardly keep her butt
on the ground.

This is not a town
for a working dog,
one that barks at loafers
and malingerers
and does not approve of
mornings spent in coffee houses
or lazy afternoons on park benches,
watching the traffic of life
rumble by.

This is a town
for silly dogs
with ribbons and beads
and funny hats,
dogs that never ran a cow
or herded sheep
or barked at a burglar,
dogs that tow men on skateboards
and get walked by clowns on unicycles.

There is no place in this town
for impatient dogs
that bark at things that
won't be moved along.
This is a town
for circus dogs
and lazy dogs
and one-trick dogs
that pledge obedience to
a life of fun and games.

Woof!

-vh