Poetry and Dogs: On Trying Not to Remember

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While I am trying hard

to not remember what I can’t remember

A black, long haired, lanky dog

trots up the northbound ramp

of a Nashville highway.

Collar swinging,

Head set forward.

Someone will miss him.

I twist a poem on to his trot.

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When I resume

the not remembering,

I slow to a stop.

A breakfast clementine rolls,

suicidal,

from the passenger’s seat to the floor.

I tap the eulogy

of the dog’s trot,

and leave the fruit be

with last November’s leaves

and the other things

dying not to be remembered.

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