the singing dog

i came home from work
the other day and heard
a guitar being strummed
in the back room. there
was some low howling too.
i took a look and it
was my dog, buster,
sitting up in the chair
plucking out some
chords and singing about
how his wife left him
on account of his drinking
and smoking and chasing
french poodles all over
town. he nodded at me when
i came in and i nodded
back. i stood in the doorway
and listened as he sang
about how a pit bull
killed his mother
when it hopped a fence
one cold winter's night,
and how his father,
a guard dog,
worked in the railroad
yard until a head on
crash of propane cars
blew up nineteen
men and one woman
who everyone thought
was a man. she went
by normam, but her real
name was norma. it's
a pretty good song,
and when he finished
i had a tear in my eye.
i gave him a few claps
then said, okay boy.
ready for your walk?
which made his tail wag
excitedly and his tongue
flop out. so off we went.