Steven Harz / Americana Soul

For Bo

West Virginia junkyard rescue you wound your way

to Connecticut in search of a family and a home

You came to us bitten and clawed and recently bleeding

so we cleaned and cared and made you our own

Your name had been ‘Mango’ but that wouldn’t do

‘Bo’ was the new selection, or more frequently ‘Hobo’

Copper caramel coat and bleach white belly

protecting us daily from mailmen and cats

Hands of a Boxer and ears of a Beagle

howling for attention and touching our hearts

Perceived as a puppy despite greying muzzle

but feeling your age at night head heavy on our laps

watching your Red Sox while anxiously awaiting

the chance to growl at a Meow Mix ad

So now I am coffee shop crying trying to get this

on paper in order to do proper justice

while your memory is recent and intact

although clouded because my wound is still wide open

All the while trying to trick myself into believing that

it was better to have been blessed to have had you

than it is to be sad that you’re gone.

—

copyright 2015

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