That One
April 1, 2020
He’s a bruiser, that one,
tough as nails,
with his broad shoulders,
wide grin, and eyes
that don’t miss nothin’,
he trots down the street
with no need of safe harbor,
nothin’ to fear from nobody.
His bark is worse
than his bite, that one,
though how can they say that
if he ain’t bit nobody?
He don’t harbor hatred
in that heart of his –
only hunger, the honest kind,
for another hard-won meal.
He’s bruised my heart,
that one, with his
slobbery kisses,
waggily tail, and fur
the color of fir bark,
he makes my knees buckle
with his easy joy and
insatiable hunger for rubs.
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