Dogs, White Fences, and the Great Fine Art of Backyard Conversation
(only ladies need apply)

My good boy has leather burns
where collars chafe and chokechains
break,
you can't leave those clingy types
in the house though;
they always piss on the furniture.

Why yes dear,
of course we're talking dogs.

They clash with the paint job,
so don't mind the lawnchairs
there,
their bodies bent the plastic cusion shred-
-e(a)d
(my god that stuffing is so tacky,
says Bev).
It's just Good Boy being bad;
he only does it on Sundays.
Something about churchbells
gets him mad.

Because we won't let him
play with the collection plate.

Or dig up graves.

Is he a watch dog, sure--
he loves to watch
so be good and keep your knees tucked,
please,
and hold your skirt
on the upward swing.

You know how dogs are.

We back-fence Bevs and Bettys,
you bet we know our dogs,
dear.

He is shaggy down the neck,
long-furred,
this golden (eyed) retriever
(actually, some ethnic mutt
from alphabet town)
and he will play with your kids
eveniftheyaren'tstrictlylegitBev
provided you don't mind the
chew marks.

Oh, but he never
breaks skin.

AKL 2007