As a boy I wanted for a companion,
Father refused, a dog would not be allowed,
This bred frustration, from a son toward a father,
As a young man I discovered father once had a dog,
A small, rough looking, mut-of-a beast,
This bred frustration, of being left out,
Mother, in passing, informed me her life was taken by a truck.
•
My friend’s been with me for two years,
As we hold each other close, I pick the grey patches in his coat,
I begin to think about life without him and cry.
•
As a man, I’ve only seen my father’s tears on two occasions,
Once as a teenager when he informed me of Grandpa’s death,
Then again on the passing of his youngest sister,
I imagine the third was after the loss of his little friend,
This bred frustration, in myself, as I didn’t understand that I was being protected.
Sweet. I miss that little dog too.