Loops and Bends and Undercurrents

He lies at my feet, my devoted dog

in his guise as a big black cat,

his second incarnation with me in this life.

When he was a dog, he was big then too.

People joked that he was really a horse.

He was gentle and fierce, as he is now.

It is evening again, and the birds are squealing.

Since morning the hills have developed a haze.

I’ve been meditating a poem, here on my veranda.

The street is still quiet, except for those birds.

(Noisy Miners, well named.) Today is a holiday.

I don’t know which one, and I don’t care.

Maybe the State declared it because the Rabbitohs,

the battlers’ team, just made history — their first win

since ‘71. I know that’s not so, but what a day to party.

The boy and me, we don’t really follow footy,

but he does watch TV of a night, lying beside me

on the couch. I wonder what he thinks he sees and hears.

‘Find your own voice,’ said the poetry Maestro (that name

an old joke between us). I let mine meander. It becomes

ever more discursive and rambling. The lines lengthen

like evening shadows. I wonder if it was shaped

by my childhood among those leisurely rivers

and expansive mountains. I have them here too.

How deceptively they stretch and curl. Children,

enjoy your summer! The breeze and the swimming
are beautiful. Watch out for undertow, snags, and deep holes.

31 Poems in 31 Days (Poewar / Writer's Resource Center) Prompt: Meditate, then write.