this puppy
obsessed with this cheese bone
she’ll never forget
that it sits on the window sill
waiting for her
taunting her
with it’s strong smell
and stronger memories
of hours spent
gnawing
and licking
and chomping
and obsessing
why oh why can’t her humans see
just how much she
deserves
her cheese bone
back
she whines
she barks
she sighs
we do not give it back
at least we have a bit of
morning pages time this morning
before the utter chaos and mild terror
of in-laws
and in-law-puppies
come barreling down the stairs
knock
knock
knock
says construction?
someone outside?
a random sound?
both myself and the puppy are surprised
and guarded
guarding the house and all its insides
from the potential
knock
knock
knock
of a hammer
or strong strong fist
or even an unknown piece of equipment
it left
it stopped
as quickly as it started
and the echoing
knock
knock
knock
plays in my ears
once the ringing of the puppy’s barks
disappears
i wonder
what
in the world
that
knock
knock
knock
actually was…
something that doesn’t get enough love
is how dogs show their love
through leans
the bearing of their weight
by the side of my leg
makes me feel like i
am supporting this whole dog’s
whole heart
whole mental health
by my lonesome
and she’s choosing it
[what a damn honor
to be a human
that a dog loves]
puppy snoofs
plant droops
kip shivers
first-appointment jitters
calmed by music and poetry
and coffee
the puppy is so whine-y
and hassle-y
and i think she just wants
to play with me
or have me
play with her
but i never know exactly what she wants
attention?
scritches?
a throwing of the ball?
to just have us not be staring at a screen?
[i mean, i’m writing this whole poem
with my eyes only on her
checking in every now and then
to make sure i’ve hit
the right button on my keyboard,
but she’s still whining
still hassling
still being
a silly little
waggity-tailed
puppy
with her gorgeous brown eyes
gazing up at me
and her little puppy barks
melting
my damn heart]
the morning poetry
still in the morning
still in the morning
as my father waters all his plants
and as the puppy gets into trouble
in the kitchen
the kitchen of my childhood
which only looks half like it did
in my childhood
and i have already scoped through the dozens
perhaps hundreds
of articles of clothing i still have in this house
to see if anything
still slaps
and now my father is done with the plants
and is playing with the puppy
like he had promised her
and i can see into the dining room
as they play
and play and play
and i think it’s
almost
as good as me bringing him
a grandchild
to play with
[maybe
maybe
maybe when our country
isn’t trying to literally kill
anyone who isn’t a
cis
straight
white
upper class
christian
man
maybe then
we’ll bring him one]
evening poems
while william shatner
tells me all the unexplained mysteries
i should care about
but i simply
don’t
~~~
big yawns
and split-up sleep
and hopefully getting
the cat to eat
or take her meds
at least
[almost done with this trip
and i’m so excited to sleep
in my own bed
once again]
~~~
but seeing people has been absolutely lovely —
i wouldn’t exchange that
for anything
[even eight uninterrupted hours]
the puppy boofs
“BROOOOURRRRGHHHHRRRRMNNNRRRR!!!”
and kip works on a magnum opus
of an op-1 song
made out of sillies from
dropout
make some noise
the squiggle show
josh ruben
and we wait for our bagels
patiently
and i write
sporadically
the puppy
croodling up next to her brand new toy —
a highland cow
with five squeakers
and a witch hat
and a vibe of playing
i’ve never seen her do
with any
other
toy
is it love?
is it play-acting her hunting instincts?
do we care that much?
no —
we just like to see her
happy
kipventures 