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Brown-Eyed Girl

Marta Ferguson

Today we lined the hall with chairs,
worked her sits, her come-fors,
her full reverse. We haven't trained
in over a year. But, today? We danced
like Ginger and Ginger, I spit-fed her
cheddar. She wrinkled her brow,
her dog-brain, learned "back" meant to lead
with her tail, meant not to stop,
not to lay down, but move.

Lately, I've caught myself in these
Animal Planet fantasies about
my next dog, my show dog, my purebred
obedience champ who will not bark
when I ignore her to watch TV,
who will not jump or strain the leash,
who will not pee on the window when
I'm late and she can see me, almost home,
who will never be my big-eyed,
my brown-eyed, lonely girl.

Marta Ferguson

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