CORKY AT TWELVE
He march around on feet that drag
He slip and slide on polished floor
He scrabble hard but stay where at
He jump on bed and misjudge angle.
We grap him fore and haul him up.
But then he judge it's not where at.
Sometimes I walk him to the school.
Once he watch a flight of bird.
He lift he leg against a tree.
He clog on home - accomplished mission.
He front ones still. He rear ones sag.
He run in place when knock on door.
He legs they churn. He standing pat.
He halfway up and feet is dangle.
Now footing firm he act like pup.
He creep self off and land on pratt.
He squat to make, fall back on stool.
He don't see where, he step in turd.
He fall off balance. I get pee.
I sog behind with shoes a-squishin'.
HE EYES THEY GLINT. HE EARS GO FLAT.
HE TAIL GO TAUT. HE NOSE IT QUIVER.
HE CHASE THAT SCAREDY-CAT UPRIVER.
HE FEET THEY DEXTROUS LIKE A DANCER
AS HE PURSUE LIKE GERMAN PANZER
HE CLAWS GO SHARP. HE EDGAR HOOVER
HE LEFT AND RIGHT. HE ALL MANEUVER.
BUT THOUGH HE TRY, THE CAT IS YOUNG.
IT THUMB ITS NOSE. IT STICK OUT TONGUE.
IT TAUNT A LAUGH. IT STRIKE HIM RICH.
POOR CORKY PANT, "YOU SON-A-BITCH."
IT SWOOM OUT FAST. IT SKIM THE GRASS.
ALL CORKY CATCH IS GLIMPSE OF ASS.
He come on back on feet of lard.
He try walk soft. He steps they hard.
He is his own severest critic.
And so we love him all the more.
But can't control that scrawl arthritic.
This reject from the Canine Corps.
