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Syndic Literary Journal

Poetry: Bob Garmston

Photo by Mukesh Srivastava



by Bob Garmston

to the left
then the right
his tiny snout
detecting more
than those black button eyes
more likely to be found
on the plastic faces
of children’s dolls
he might have taken from discarded toys
he pulls me along
as I ponder transitive verbs
wondering how I got this far
without knowing their meaning
for the ten pounder before me
he cares not
for language forms other than
the few commands to which
he responds
ambidextrously urinating
how does he know
which quivering leg
to hoist over bush, stone or fragrant bark?
and what are the reasons
his tiny body stays pointed south
for some discharges
and for others he moves his apparatus north
continuing his visitations?
and why this side of the street
in the morning
and not at night
as we dutifully pace
our required constitutionals
i ponder
matters of consequence
while he cares not a whit
for the noises in my head


Compiled/Published by LeRoy Chatfield
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