lives with her human companions, Christine and Ken Potter, and her brother, Desmond, in an old house that sometimes has mice. She reports that the Mini-Pin of her ode is named Spencer and that he’d better watch out because she’s not only larger than he is, but also smarter and much more beautiful.
One of Molly’s sonnets will be featured in the Winter 2009 Rattle.
A strict formalist, Molly believes that Christine’s book, Zero Degrees At First Ligh
t, would be OK if it had more metrical poetry in it. This is her third appearance in Bumbershoot
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The Big Ones have a dinner guest tonight.
He’s brought along his partner and one wee
impulsive Mini-pinscher I should smite
for rudely barking—but instead, I’ll flee.
I’ll roll my eyes while running up the stairs.
I will not lose my dignity and hiss
or waste my breath me-yowling as I jog,
for one eternal verity is this:
it’s best to save your angst for other cares.
There’s little you can do about a dog.
A dog makes friends by gulping down your food.
He’ll swipe your catnip mouse and run away,
return it torn, and doused with drool—and chewed.
Just watch his Big One smile and call that “play”.
Two cats might have a chance, triangulate
upon some prancing, useless canine vile,
spring forth like panthers, box his silly ears.
Alas, my brother’s lacking nerve and guile.
He’s fast asleep. He’s either too sedate,
or maybe has more sense than it appears.
The Big Ones pour attention on their dogs.
That’s necessary. Dogs are dull and weak.
They need to hear “Good boy!” because they’re cogs.
They’re nothing more, and Dachshunds even leak
and someone always laughs and mops it up.
Disgusting! If dogs find your kitty pan,
they’ll use it as a hunting ground for treats!
A dog will swallow all the crap he can.
Truth may be beauty; Annoyance is a pup—
that’s all ye need to know, with ten repeats.