A Poem


What transforms me,
Like the stray dogs on the streets,
Is that, once something becomes
Too comfortable, you become
Set in your ways. Like my story
Of journeying into an accidental poet.

Now I make some words scamper like fleas
And sometimes I make them stick like ticks
I also make the head chase the fluffy derriere,
Which unlike a dog’s own tail
Is combined into one, sort of like a prelude and a fugue.

Now I let the stray dog
Loose onto the nearby street
My name etched on the leather collar,
The fur combed into waves.

And I hear there are queues at the nearby vet
Begging for a Rabies injection.

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