MAGGIE

Mary Lee posted this picture, along with a playful cumulative poem at Year of Reading this morning. Mary Lee was especially intrigued by the small brown pug in the bottom right corner of the  picture. I immediately thought of Maggie, a crazy yellow lab that adopted me many years.  Maggie loved, loved, loved Washington Park, and regularly escaped from her leash to cavort happily through the park- interrupting soccer games, attending birthday parties, and participating in art classes.

“Maggie”

You come to me

During a cold November rain

I do not recognize you

But you kiss my face frantically,

Insist that we have

known each other

For a very long time.

Leave muddy pawprints

Down the front of my purple raincoat

I am sure

Someone must be searching

for such a fine young yellow lab

clearly purebred.

But no one claims you. 

And so you,

Sixty pounds of

frantic

tail wagging

joy

claim us.

You love many things-

Naps on the living room couch

Doggie bags

snatched from my hand

before they ever make it to the fridge.

Car rides,

not next to Ramsey

in the back of the SUV

but rather perched on the edge

of the front seat

where you pant

and drool happily

on the dashboard.

Most of all

you love Washington Park

dog heaven on earth-

endless squirrels

geese to chase

a myriad of four-legged friends.

You are the Houdini of dogs

Regularly freeing yourself

From the confines of the leash

to race through soccer games
and gobble hot dogs at birthday parties 
and company picnics.
 

You name yourself 
an honorary member 
of  taekwondo and folk dancing classes.

The ladies in the Thursday afternoon art class

are especially unappreciative

of your talent

issuing a lifetime ban

After you knock over an easel.

Your favorite place, though,

Is the slimy, duck-poopy,

algae-ridden lake

And you paddle gleefully

Back and forth

For hours on end

As Ramsey and I glumly wonder

Whether you will ever come out.

Your carefree existence ends

The rainy May evening

when the boys move in.

Now you have a job.

You are therapy girl.

All summer

My two broken boys

Rage and scream and rail

against a life

that has been far from kind

And you lean against them,

Gently licking

the hurt away.

© Carol Wilcox, 2013