Bitch Aloof

Allowed off-leash
More than she ought to be
Into the woods she wanders
Discovering new trails
Wagging her bushy tail.

Hikers crossing her path
Admire her independence
Inquire where her master might be.
Intoxicated by the myriad
Of unfamiliar scents they carry
(Wishing for a treat hidden in their backpacks)
She sniffs in all her glory,
Her warm, wet nose in the air
As they stroke her shiny hair
And remind her of her beauty
Clearly oblivious to the matted parts
Beneath the surface where she harbors
Fleas and ticks and prickly burrs.


Along the paths she bounds
With endless reckless abandon
Into familiar territory, then fearlessly
Branching out into newer tangents
Tackling the tangles of thorny briars
And unkempt paths
Seemingly undiscovered by others
Where wild flora flourishes
And she does too.


Splashing in streams,
Passing patches of warmth
Playful glare of gleaming sun,
She notes the locations of
Cool protective shelters
(Should she need one come dusk)
Refreshed and exhilarated
Stopping to pause
And lick her paws
And take in all her surroundings
As she pleases.


In the quiet moments
She hears the whisper of rumblings
Thinking it the hint of impending storms
Or quaking of the earth beneath
Her four feet
Or the approach of imminent danger;
Perking her ears, she listens attentively
And recognizes the language of her
Own hungry belly
And notices the fatigue
From her lively jaunt
Settle into her aging joints
Reminding her that her puppy days
Have been left behind
Despite this day
Where they briefly resurfaced.


Suddenly,
Coming to her senses,
She recalls her dish awaiting
Filled with tasty tidbits
Panic sets in when she realizes
She has lost her way
Markings on the trail fading
As last lights past sunset
Play with her vision
She squints
Looks around
Runs in circles briefly
Then charts a course
Managing to backtrack
Following her faint footprints
In evening dew-softened soil
And the familiar stench
Of pheromones
And waste
She left in her wake.

As chill of nightfall
Settles in her bones
She locates the gate
Left open
Anticipating her return.
Softly she enters
Careful not to awaken or stir
Those hoping for her arrival.
Gingerly,
She wipes the mud from the trail
Upon the Welcome mat.
SPOZ 5/16/16

Paying Attention

Eyes glazed
In a daze
She gazes
Outside the classroom window
Where she effortlessly translates
The language of blue jays who explain
The simple science of feathered flight
For her to comprehend
And explore.
Sporadically she drifts back inside
The cinder block prison
With cursive letters in alphabetical order
Making eager eye contact
With the warden
At the chalkboard
Feigning a cursory nod
With her most genuine masquerade
Confident
Of audience approval.
Pen in hand, she doodles maps
In the white spaces of her speckled
Composition book
That lead her to far away forests
Thick with fragrant earth and trees
Sailing ships afloat in mist
Of alluring distant seas
Where her tender heart yearns to be
Creating the illusion
Of copiously copying useless notes
The pointless facts she will memorize with ease
And faithfully regurgitate
Without ever having tasted
Their splendor first
Wearing the uniform of contentment
Like a grandiose costume on stage
Convincing viewers of her character
Suspending disbelief
Like the insect suddenly snatched
In the extravagantly spun web
Outside the window
Where she instantly
Recognizes her reflection.

By Susan Oscilowski
5/14/16