Pantoum for My Failure

I worry constantly that I’m getting nothing done.

I fold the laundry, take the dog on walks.

What I want to do is read, or have some fun.

My husband doesn’t listen when I talk.

 

I fold the laundry, take the dog on walks.

I should be writing novels, thinking thoughts.

My husband doesn’t listen when I talk,

When I complain about the shoulds and oughts.

 

I should be writing novels, thinking thoughts.

I drink coffee, daydream, talk to rocks

who listen to my complaints of shoulds and oughts.

I fret about my writing. Go on walks.

 

I drink coffee, daydream, talk to rocks,

but I just want to read, or have some fun.

I fret about my writing while I walk.

I worry constantly. I’m getting nothing done.

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Dog Song: Gus Speaks

(This form is called The Golden Shovel, which means you steal the end words from a poem. I stole these from Dream Song 14)

 

I am a dog and I live a dog’s life. So

what? Does that mean I do not yearn as the sky yearns?

Do I not yearn as much as the dreaming human? I yearn

for the great field, untethered. I yearn for a boy,

agile as me, hungry for the run, one who is never bored

or still. I do not know about this one. He has no

 

thirst for running, no

nose for the scent of quail and cats. I am bored

of his incessant sleeping, much as he is bored of me

and my desires. My needs are like the themes of great literature

and popular music. My days filled with plights & gripes

such as those that plagued the hero, Achilles.

 

Why does no one listen to me?

They think my snarls and yipes a drag,

They believe I am simply a dog,

When I begin to articulate my needs, they look away.

Listen, I say, barking, I am leaving,

You will find no replacement for me. Wag.

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