Hopper grows old at the foot of my chair
dreaming of dog bones and pussies to snare,
More often than not my feet find him there,
sleeping deep deeping beneath my stuffed chair.
The prompt at Writer’s Island this morning was “tribute.” This one goes out to the family dog Hopper. Hopper is a pit bull mix. He’s graced out lives for nine years, and we love him. Pit bulls get a bad rap. Hopper is deaf, so he sleeps the sleep of the dead. A good stomp on the floor wakes him. I used iambic pentameter in this piece to help me get something moving.
Visit Writer’s Island for more takes on “tribute.”