Poetry

the body of a cockroach

expression is the need of my soul
i was once a vers libre bard
but i died and my soul went
into the body of a cockroach
it has given me a new outlook upon life

archy and mehitabel
— Don Marquis

Denise's Second Going

Grave robbers have snatched Denise.
For years I kept her ashes in a whiskey bottle
in the back of the liquor cabinet.

Then last October
I almost drank her for a nightcap;
so I hid her in an oatmeal box in the pantry.

Yesterday morning my drunken brother Arnold
and his girlfriend Susan
ate her for breakfast.

— © George Miller 2005

Pooch

My exwife's exhusband's exwife's ex
left her left him left her left me
thirteen dogs: Abigail, Swede, Walter,
Poor Richard, Freddie, Rodin, Sister,
Delta Queen, Alice B, Schwarz, Rollback,
Suwannee, and Light Horse Harry Lee.

The ex's ex's ex's ex lives in anguish,
the ex's ex's ex in emotional retreat,
the ex's ex with my record collection,
the ex with the ex's ex's staph infection.

Still and all, my dogs greet me at the end
of the day with brown eyes eager
for a romp in the park. I could be a happy man
if the ex's ex returned my records,
but, hey, you can't have everything.

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