Blackie the dog
My second love came in the
form of a dog
A leg on each corner and a head up above
And Blackie was his name
Yes Blackie was his name
A patchwork quilt of fur black and skin
More kin to a pig then Rin-Tin-Tin.
So we called him Blackie
Yes we called him Blackie
Black his countenance as too his soul
Once a pretty pup but then just plain foul
They called him Blackie
Found on a doorstep 'lone and disheveled
He came, He saw AND he smelled
Our own dear Blackie
Only one ear; the milk-lady he attacked her
With canine hiatus and copious saliva
And though he knew no known taboo
He'd rather be him than you
Eloquently he confessed and reluctantly expressed
His puzzlement at our greed and excess...
Blackie the Blessed
Now you're saying "Blackie's a sanctimonious ****!"
Well see him go on the leg of one of the neighbors
But he pushed his luck with their hydrangeas
Old Keegan came out next door and shot him...
May the gods smile down on that prostrate form
Four vertical paws on a manicured lawn
by Michael Speakman
Read the story behind this poem
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