A congress of dogs ambassadors
between wooden legs
of coffee shop benches
a sunny, chilly November.
But my dog he died last year.
I have no ambassador.
My boy died last September
and I don’t have his nature
the insouciance to stick my nose
into other people’s business.
Around me swirls a confluence
of conversations like tidepools.
Each of us inhabits his own space.
Each with his own space to live.
At last it’s ours, as it should’ve been
all along, the freedom to enjoy oneself.
But I’ve no dog, no go-between.
I can only watch as one watches
from a great distance
from across a glassy bar.
R. Charboneau
Artwork: Van Gogh, Cafe Terrace at Night, 1888
This is beautiful – I’m sorry for your loss – dogs, are our ambassadors – what a lovely way to put it.
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Thank you Kate for the kind words. He was a good boy, but an old one.
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Sorry for your loss. You’re blog and your poetry is wonderful. It’s You-nique. I like that.
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