Pup's old, illustrated by Jeannine Chappell

By Jeannine Chappell
see also: This Has Happened.
 

Pup’s old     


It’s unbelievable how Bella sleeps,
the same bursting free girl who chased for years
sticks, balls, frizzlebees—foaming meadow greens
until her muscles cramped, and her peaked ears
rounded, and her tongue pierced and pierced the breeze,

which always roves in when the sun covers
itself under hills. In the aftermath,
a walk home, a deposit scooped, suppers
all around, and everyone gets a bath.
For some, that’s a chance to earn a few treats.

The eternal puppy exhales dog breath.
She mouths her stuffy and shares tugging games,
but no longer levitates off the earth,
snapping for a toy or a bite of lamb.
The cold weather affects the Bootsky’s knees.

Shall I warble “Sunrise, Sunset”? I am,
thanks to her, never going to be the same.

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