poem: Ode to Everydog

What if some ancient scribe
was a little dyslexic…
transribed Dog as God?

I dreamed this…
a place at the pearly gate
where a dingo questioned the newly deceased
about their kindness and love.

I watched those humans,
in their ignorance of
the true nature of Dog,
had stoned them for being
in the wrong yard at the wrong time,
being led, quivering and shaking,
by the Dog who once befriended Francis
to the sad Place Where Dogs Are Not

While those who shared
their lunch with the
scraggly mutt in the park
walked right in
greeted by the wagging tails and delighted
barks of the angels.

Dog is Love
And dyslexia’s been around
for a long, long time.