Guðbjörg the clairvoyant told me
I should get a dog. Having a dog,
since I have no child, would help me
get in touch with my emotional side,
provide a wellspring from which
to bounce the heart, so to speak,
instead of keeping it wrapped up
in cellophane seething in its own juice—
or else you’d have to stuff it in the freezer
alongside peas and carrots and leftover curries,
which, by the way, nearly never go bad
due to all the spice. A dog, a dog
doesn’t need much more than a pat
on the back and a good square meal;
where can you find children like that?
Aside from the obvious furry fuss,
the wagging, the ball tossing out back—
a game which can last forever
and keeps you and the dog amused
for reams of fine summer nights,
when there’s nothing much else to do;
aside from that, Guðbjörg tells me
a dog is like a channel, a route to tap
the well into the other side,
you know, the far beyond,
and apparently will help you find
your spirit guide if you have
been rationally exhumed
by your own psychic canine.
