Today's poem post is for all those pet parents who perhaps don't absolutely love taking their dog out at ridiculous hours of the morning (especially in the winter). However, let me say know that I don't know who these people are or if they even exist. See, I know you think, "Wow, I'm so lucky!" every time you have the privilege to pull on your boots and put on that overstuffed burnt orange coat from 1986 saved especially for these early morning outings because nothing made past 1990 seems to keep you as warm or looks so cool. Not to mention that you're still rockin' your pj pants and dark circles under your eyes. The fact that it's December and freezing out just makes it ten times better...
Or Death and December
by George Garrett
The Roman Catholic bells of Princeton, New Jersey,
wake me from rousing dreams into a resounding hangover.
Sweet Jesus, my life is hateful to me.
Seven a.m. and time to walk my dog on a leash.
Ice on the sidewalk and in the gutters,
and the wind comes down our one-way street
like a deuce-and-a-half, a six-by, a semi,
huge with a cold load of growls.
There's not only leaf left to bear witness,
with twitch and scuttle, rattle and rasp,
against the blatant roaring of the wrongway wind.
Only my nose running and my face frozen
into a kind of grin which has nothing to do
with the ice and the wind or death and December,
but joy pure and simple when my black and tan puppy,
for the first time every, lifts his hind leg to pee.
Found at: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/238922
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