by Glen Martin Fitch
Well, look who's here!
I remember you,
Ya flea bitten piece of shit.
Home at last!
Seen the world?
You and your mangy pack
traipsing gutter to gutter
looking for a fight
or just wild with the itch,
panting breath, raving mad,
following your nose,
chasing every bitch in heat?
Well, hail, hero! Guardian!
Leaving us at home, alone.
Hard time I've had of it,
keeping everyone in line.
Been gone so long
you won't eve know your pup
and every mutt in town's
sniffing at his mother's tail.
She knows I've done my best.
It's sad. All her waiting,
All her whining--for you!
Poor Penelope.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011