Late Night Serenade

 

I don't like giving away the poem in my opening remarks ... because then there's no incentive to explore the poem, right?

So, okay, this one is about a dog. He wasn't just a dog, but a special personality. Maybe I should just stop there.

We've had a lot of canine neighbors in the years that we've been here at Brimm Manor. There was one small one a couple of doors up ... whose favorite activity seemed to be running in circles and barking at the sun.

Then there was the one who deligted in galloping into the alley, hackles up, barking, barking, barking ... like he really meant business ... when I tried to move our trash container back on our property.

My favorite, though, was Houdini, who lived right next door. I remember how, soon after they moved in, Houdini barked at me. His owner spoke quietly to him ... I couldn't tell what he said ... and that was the last time Houdini ever barked at me. We got along famously.

Then there was this ... a situation which could easily become a problem ... but I detect a bit of sympathy in what I wrote about it.

The poem:

 

LATE-NIGHT SERENADE

Sometimes at midnight, sometimes

three o'clock in the morning,

I hear him pouring out his soul,

and I know he's lonely, or lovesick,

or both, poor fellow, even though

I can't make out the words, just

the emotion of his mournful song

that goes on and on, rising in pitch,

subsiding, resuming, reminding me

of a gray wolf sending a message

somewhere in the wilds. He persists,

night after night, sitting beside

his doghouse, two doors down, nose

pointing heavenward, ears laid back,

howling, yowling, pitifully crying

his poor heart out over a lost bone,

a failed romance, the solitude

of the bachelor's way of life --

something that's obviously bothering

him. And it bothers me that he

doesn't start thinking about it

until I'm trying to get some sleep,

then howls the rest of the night.

© 2002

(originally published in Kaleidoscope)

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Today's word: yowling