A Poem for Chupie

March 31, 2014

Woof
woof woof
woof, on a leash
of peanut butter
and drugs you cry
in a strange room, so
alone, stuck in the
cage bought for you
by your master.

Oh, to be a pup
so full of life and then
to be old, backed
into a corner by bigger
dogs with more recent
birthdays but old age
look good on you, I
say, and you have gone
through all the phases
of doghood but the very
end stage. To
be a chupie.

Why do you make
crying sounds? I
am here and yet you
feel alone. You are
in a foreign place of
which you do not know
the name for you do not
speak except in
woofs.
Woof woof.

Oh chupster, lay
your head on this
pillow here, right here
next to the cookies.
These are not for you,
your tongue tastes like
peanut butter.

Lazy pup, with
old age comes the
love of simple comforts.
With my old age has come
a love of dogs who long
for simple comforts. We
are of the same breed,
perhaps, Mr. Chupie, or
maybe you are human.

Woof
woof woof
woof.

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