Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill

My Pooches

My pooches are cuddly and quick to forgive

When I've no playtime for which they seem to live.

They gaze at me fondly with great pools of eyes

And turn up their tummies till I realize.

I cave at long last and we play and we growl

And pay not a care to my typewriter's scowl.

Then noon drags me out with its stapler hand

Far into the world of the dull, of the bland,

Where humans adhere to a deadline's crossed arms

As factory cows moo from factory farms.

Still when I come home, be it day, be it night,

I find two tails wagging and yips of delight.

As daily my care for the dogs wins their smooches,

I think: I could be a bit more like my pooches.