New Puppy

Our new puppy

with his quizzical stare

will question this world,

his strange new world,

our world,

that is far, far away

from the familiar teat

that nursed him

‘til he became a nuisance

and made himself an orphan,

a needy baby yet,

with razor sharp teeth.


We will forgive him,

you and I, even

as his tiny razors shred

our Sunday shoes,

the sofa cushions,

along with my favorite plant

But we, unlike his mother,

will tsk, tsk, tsk him gently

into our comfort zone,

not his, and train him

in humane ways

--or so we will believe.


I will mourn the sofa cushions,

for a spell,

but I will always love you

and that new puppy.


The End

10 comments about this poem Feed