used to be my dog didn't have a job,
no place to be, except waiting outside
a downtown-hicktown $.15 cheaper movie
theatre boasting itself as the Texan;
a block away, the $.35 Martin theatre
served its course of rich kid's candy.

but she had a job then, toiling for a tyke
in the never-ending lane of care-giving
to someone she saw as master; appionted
by the Dog King to be in charge of her,
the street, block, city, world; ll yrs.
old and already i was Dog King: Master.

this dog, my dog now, seems to be on strike;
he must want better wages or work conditions,
in which he can serve the remaining internship.
i'm blessed not having my house bugged, my lines
crossed-up by the F.B.I., or, staked-out by the them.
one worry, maybe he is a spy and he's got a job:

watching me.

05/23/2008

Posted on 05/23/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan