Friday, April 14, 2017


   If my dog, Breeze, drank black coffee
I’d make sure my mugs fit his paws
His dewclaw could wrap ‘round the thumb rest
The rim wide enough for his jaws

 We’d take our coffee out on the back porch
  Where red birds would sing us awake
As we sat hip to hip on the swinging bench
Everything rosy, everything jake

I might turn to him and ask “What do you think?”
He won’t look. He might flick an ear.
And though he has yet to utter a word
I know he likes having me there

That’s just how things are with me and Breeze
  Me, a man of too many words
And Breeze, the quiet but thoughtful type
Just sitting, enjoying the birds