J. P. Dancing Bear

Every Dog is Two Dogs:

(inspired by a Julie Speed painting "Trick Dogs")

one that wags its tail waiting for my return
and one that has strewn my garbage through the house.
In my mind there are two dogs—both jump through
fiery hoops but one more willingly than the other.
Did I mention that both dogs are white? Yes, white
like the billowing fog that visits every afternoon.
One snaps and bites while barking loudly at the fog;
the other has run deep into the bank, except for the jingled
collar it has become fog. It is a happy jingle.
I say this because the dog and the fog bobble my head.
So is the jingle. And the flaming hoops. My house.
And your ear. They are all in here. Do you hear
that? It is the you that I have imagined you to be
in a top hat running across the moors up to my door.
You say there is a telegram—one that I have imagined
you would always bring. It only reads pastiche.
And then we are in a European city of many architectures
even if you did not mean us to be. And the hoops have
set fire to these old buildings and the structures crumble
into flames and ruin like all European cities do. In the rubble
you say you hate the rhyming sounds. Everything should be
a beautiful symphony of tin pots and spoons. In the following
cacophony I wonder which mind I have imitated for you.
And the dogs are barking at each other. They are mad
that the one is not more like the other. They tug-o-war
your old sock—the one you wore while kicking dead horses.
You asked why fiery hoops? Is this a circus? I know you
hate this part. The doubt about whether you only exist
in someone else’s mind. You reach into your top hat
for a rabbit but pull one of the white dogs by its ears—
it is not the happy hound. I fear for your hand, dear man.
Was that a haiku stamped on the brim of your hat? An old
Basho riff—imagine the world without frogs. Only dogs.
You unmagic your hat. Fold that telegram to a pocket square
for your tatty jacket. I know, it’s time to go—you say
you hear the sound of circus tents pulled down. And both dogs
bark your departure—one grinning happy white razors;
the other straining to rip and steal your dusty blue soul.