Named after a Christmas Elf,
Assumed tribute to a hair band from Jersey,
You were our Edward Scissorhands,
Krueger nails clipped,
Became razorblades.
You sat,
Doing that stretch we called your yoga,
And waited,
For attention,
For any privilege at all,
For permission to be present.
You were, after all, a refugee,
From the tyranny of some eugenics experiment
Centuries old;
That long back
And those deer legs
Worked against you,
Gave you relentless pain
And an early death.
Still, thankfulness eases my anger and hurt.
After all,
Without your genetic roulette,
You don't exist--
To be abandoned,
To be adopted,
To be taken for granted,
To be,
Just another dog.
(In fact,
The doggiest dog
We could ever imagine.)
Yesterday,
I found myself playing
Eat Your Face
With your sister.
I wasn't very good,
But I tried.
And trying,
I found some better part
Of myself.
You taught me much about love,
About compassion,
About presence,
About persistence.
In the end,
You cheese mooching,
Bombast barking,
Dog hair dust-storm,...
You whale talking,
Hard kissing,
Always game friend,
I miss you.
There's no way to overstate how much,
I'm better
For you.
