- Books, Literature, and Writing
Poem - my dog died
my wife left me,
whatever, I thought
the apartment is small
now I don't have to stand in the corner
and be berated.
I lived a delicious life for a while,
then my dog Mursheen-Durkin died,
because of food.
how ironic, I thought,
in between sobs,
she liked to sit in my old place in the corner,
looking there I felt for holes in my hands,
dragging myself around on camel knees,
my back bent with kennedy, king, lennon,
all the good are dead.
an evil moron is a president,
such a serious combination,
I could have survived either one,
so I left america.
taking her ashes with me ...back to Beirut,
I buried her beside my dear daughters dead
with what was left of my heart...