Roadkill

Went to SF with Mom and Mija today and saw  the Frida Kahlo exhibit. Mom drove and played a live reading by Billy Collins,  poet laureate. 

 

Inspired by Billy Collins, who writes simple yet clever poems about everyday observations. His poem "The Revenant" follows mine, to give you an idea of his style.

PS it's ok to laugh at this. It's off the cuff :P

 

“Roadkill”

Part of country life

Is dodging roadkill.

A lump of fur

Followed by red asphalt.

Squirrels, skunks,  raccoons

For every deer I see on the road,

Four visit my yard each day to see what greenery

Creeps out of its prison to be sampled.

They stare at me, coal black noses glistening

Ribs showing like Frida’s tiny dogs

Just a yard from my window

And I think, you want fries with that?

Bring your spotted baby for a drink from my pond

But I draw the line when you eat my water lilies.

 

The road claims the occasional dog or cat.

It’s the cats that really affect me.

I think

Of my sweet silly girls

The ginger one

Chews plastic and mews like her heart is broken

The sienna one

Grabs my arm to lick it hungrily and lovingly

Then thunders off 

Throwing a clattering necklace in the air

 Like a pudgy monkey.

When I see a cat

I think

Of how

She must have rubbed on her person’s leg that morning

Before mewing to be let out.

So far

I’ve hit a bird (so sorry)

A rattler (not sorry)

I saw a deer with no head today

Maybe I don’t have to get a pet mountain lion after all.

I bet my guru from Iowa

Sees the squirrels and thinks of his childhood hunts

A wasted meal, instead of a tragedy.

The Revenant  by Billy Collins

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair and eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all my strength 
not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.