EARTH ~
In Susan's arms is Pal Goose. He was a pet of the family for 25 years. A good old friend. Fierce when he had to be, comical and enduring otherwise. We always liked it how he turned his head sideways to give us, or anyone, the real hairy eye. I wrote a poem to him just after he died. It's the least I could do after so many fine years. He greened our lawn. He had his wives and girlfriends. When he was old and alone he even took on the role of a chicken with a new herd of feisty and young chickens who pretty much said to him in the pecking order: "We know you are a goose, but with all of us you'd better act like a chicken." So he did. I could see that he did. Twice as large and twice as bright as the chickens he humbly took his course. When selecting poems to read in public I try not to read "Pal Goose". It makes someone I love cry.
PAL GOOSE
On that sunny day
I opened your pen door
And let you out —
You loved the sun
Sun on snow
Making tracks to the pond —
Because it got too busy
But I have no excuse how
I forgot to close your
Pen door and left home
Sometime in the evening
Faraway, thoughts to you and
The open door but I would get back
The moon was out, and you
Loved the moon —
The raccoon was out, and he
Hunts by the moon —
The next morning you were
Found dead with eyes open
Suddenly flat and huge on the snow
Too big for raccoon to even bother with
Whose blood-tracks tricky designed away
And then as if he noticed how obvious
Seemed to wash his murderous paws
Off in the snow and vanished
You were our third gander
In twenty years, flocks of
Geese once upon a time mixed
With ducks and chickens and when
Our rooster died you were the new
Rooster for the chickens —
It looked funny, it looked
Practical, you fit
I miss you now when I split
Wood and wait to hear your call
Loud and sudden and part of me
In Susan's arms is Pal Goose. He was a pet of the family for 25 years. A good old friend. Fierce when he had to be, comical and enduring otherwise. We always liked it how he turned his head sideways to give us, or anyone, the real hairy eye. I wrote a poem to him just after he died. It's the least I could do after so many fine years. He greened our lawn. He had his wives and girlfriends. When he was old and alone he even took on the role of a chicken with a new herd of feisty and young chickens who pretty much said to him in the pecking order: "We know you are a goose, but with all of us you'd better act like a chicken." So he did. I could see that he did. Twice as large and twice as bright as the chickens he humbly took his course. When selecting poems to read in public I try not to read "Pal Goose". It makes someone I love cry.
PAL GOOSE
On that sunny day
I opened your pen door
And let you out —
You loved the sun
Sun on snow
Making tracks to the pond —
Because it got too busy
But I have no excuse how
I forgot to close your
Pen door and left home
Sometime in the evening
Faraway, thoughts to you and
The open door but I would get back
The moon was out, and you
Loved the moon —
The raccoon was out, and he
Hunts by the moon —
The next morning you were
Found dead with eyes open
Suddenly flat and huge on the snow
Too big for raccoon to even bother with
Whose blood-tracks tricky designed away
And then as if he noticed how obvious
Seemed to wash his murderous paws
Off in the snow and vanished
You were our third gander
In twenty years, flocks of
Geese once upon a time mixed
With ducks and chickens and when
Our rooster died you were the new
Rooster for the chickens —
It looked funny, it looked
Practical, you fit
I miss you now when I split
Wood and wait to hear your call
Loud and sudden and part of me
photo © bob arnold
