previous owners of my heart were less than kind
i found cynical walls to hide behind
mocked hippies and their talk of vibes
untrusting, wounded
i was an old dog under the porch
growling at the world
sometimes if it was a nice sunny day id come out and lay in the sun
in my back, legs asplay
but at the approach of beauty
it was back under the porch, quick as bunnies
you can beat up on a dog a few times, but they get good at avoiding the beatings
soon you have an invisible dog

every now and then an impossible girl would come skipping down the lane
id smell her long and start drooling against my better doggie judgement
peek out from the corner of the steps and take a good long sniff

i'd smile a huge goofy doggie smile if the scent was purely impossible
impossibility is the scent of desire in this old hound

then the tail starts to go
and all manner of coffee shop waitress, bartender, someones girlfriend
all younger and more impossible thatn the rest
laughing at the old dog, dancing with them
some would stroke and scratch and hit that little spot that makes my left leg go crazy,
as my toungue rapturously sticks out of my increasilngly toothless mouth
the zen spot
it was clearly a pity scratch
clearly just a dead end flirtation
a way to kill time in a boring world
but that didn't matter to this waggin tail of mine
soon i was sitting on the porch

from the porch you can see the hill which when climbed to the very top allows you to see tommorrow
i hadn't been up that hill in quite sometime
my lair beneath the porch is almost warm and fairly comfortable unless its raining
it's chief allure is that it is my lair, no bitches allowed
like the sign on the he man woman hater's club

a stewardess came up the path with a leash in her hand
asked me if i wanted walkies
i took a look under the porch
and then at her
then at the leash
then looked into her wondrous twinkling eyes
we started up the hill together
me and this wonderful smelling, impossible goddess from the sky
i feel like a puppy again
we frolic nicely together on the grass

i dont care what the other dogs are saying as we walk by them up the hill to tommorrow
just the fact we are walking there is good enough for me
the idea of being on the end of HER leash
even only once or twice a month
is far better than all the dead skunk i've ever rolled in
all i had to hear was she hated smelly old dogs
and now im a far less smelly one


now shes gone again
i sleep contentedly under the porch
dreaming of the next walk up the hill
her voice calling "walkies"

i wake up from time to time,
to sniff the air for her scent
which is followed by those gorgeously twinkly cosmic eyes
and a soul full of love for me
fleas and all