God forbid, my neighbor should croak and be Heaven sent,
dragging his yawping dogs with him. God forbid,
they should prowl their lazy master’s gold leaf streets
and wild gardens hereafter, where resurrected rabbits,
fearless, nibble radishes and romaine lettuce.
God forbid, my neighbor’s hounds
be forced to sniff unscented, sexless air,
spin in circles, nip their unsavory tails.
God forbid such a thought, that there be peace
on Earth, quiet mornings reading on my porch,
while Heaven sent, my neighbor’s ghost dogs yearn
to bark, to growl, to whimper, to howl:
Their hollow noses twitch, their pale ears burn;
their hot tongues dangle, their limp tails curl.
“The Animals Are Out”