Unpretty poem

This is not a pretty poem

It is not about the dawn’s colors streaking 

Over the horizon

Or a majestic swan gliding across 

A glassy pond

It is not about 

Peeling clementines 

On Olive Street

Or listening to the rain chime

Through bronzed bells…

This is about

my life

And today

I slept in, snugged

Next to the body of my fur-niece,

A bridle pit bull named Brinley

With amber eyes and floppy ears that cock up

Like the big bent habit of the Flying Nun

I drove over the hill

For a chance to see some white

Soaring gliders

Doing slow loops over the valley floor

Saw families picnicking 

Heard the squeals of playing children

And traveled through a cloud of 

Grilled burger smoke,

Mouth-wateringly good

I rested – watching Harry Potter movies

One after the other 

On my sister’s back porch

Laid out on her nubby green plaid couch

While lazily sipping

Diet Coke in a plastic cup, its ice cubes 

Rapidly melting

A bag of chips, cheddar cheese & sour cream, 

Rapidly diminishing beside me

In turns,

Brinley laid upon me,

Rested her head on the back of the couch and

Looked out the window,

Mewled at the rumbling motorcycles

Driving past,

Brought me her toys for play

My dad and I discussed 

A Wall Street Journal article

Brinley’s ears

And where we’d go to dinner

And now, the sky is black,

The dog is tired,

I may raid the freezer,

And it’s imperfectly perfect

Because this life

Is mine


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