Buddy

This one was written a long time ago, but the memories remain strong.

I might as well tell you now, Buddy was a Beagle, much in evidence in the neighborhood ... his neighborhood ... his yard ... and sometimes in his vehicle, as his people took him along for the ride.

But, as the poem relates, he was often indoors, too ... at the window, looking out on the world. Often, when I'd look out to see if it was raining, or snowing, or a sunny day suitable for a stroll in the neighborhood, there would be Buddy looking out his window, too.

Buddy moved away a long time ago, but the memories remain, and I still sometimes expect to see him looking back at me from across the street.

The poem:

BUDDY

Sometimes,

when I'm alone,

I look out

my front window,

and there's Buddy,

staring back at me

from across the way.

Resting his chin

on the back

of his gray sofa,

he trains a sharp eye

on the street,

watching for dogs,

or squirrels,

or maybe even cats.

He watches, puzzled

that I have no leash

as I trot off

on my daily rounds,

for I'm sure

Buddy must think

I'm a Beagle, too,

as house-bound

and lonely as he.

©

1996

(originally published in Anterior Poetry Monthly)

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Today's word: house-bound