My Dog Harry

My dog Harry

loves it when -- on the back porch,

listening with me to the crickets --  

I slide him slivers of cheddar

from my paper plate.  He sits,

peering through the screened-in darkness,

and searches for backyard varmints

or wayward interloping cats.

My dog Harry

sits with me on the couch --

A Person of Interest flickering

in the colorblind distance --

and rests his chin upon my thigh,

heaving great sighs from time to time,

thoughts of squirrels perhaps,

or the collie at the dog park.

My dog Harry

lies on the carpet,

equidistant

from me at my desk

and where the children sleep

in their beds.  

I do not need a yardstick.

My dog Harry

wags his tail gale force

when he sees the red leash,

and leaps onto my legs

for his harness.  

He walks with me full gallop

and pees on every vertical surface --

bushes especially,

and our neighbors’ unsuspecting mailboxes.

--Michael McIntyre

Dacula, April 2013