This poem was published in The Avenue Journal, Issue X: Dogs
Forget The Groundhog
by Catherine Allen
You don’t kill somebody
for being old and inconvenient
ㅤand isn’t a dog somebody?
Take my Jimmy, for instance –
blind, deaf, weak
and a mite confused –
No more the happy life
and yet and yet
look what’s left –
ㅤㅤfood!
ㅤㅤfamiliar beds
ㅤㅤfamiliar hands
ㅤㅤsmells! (fainter
ㅤㅤbut still there).
And so,
as I sop up
the latest puddle of pee
in my favorite rug,
I remind myself how
arriving home
in a cool evening
after a slow hesitant amble
ㅤㅤhe’ll break into a run!
ㅤㅤstill enough oomph in him
ㅤㅤto make those failing hind legs
ㅤㅤhop and kick along
ㅤㅤrabbit-like bounding
ㅤㅤpast – not ten feet away –
ㅤㅤa fat groundhog
ㅤㅤmunching away
ㅤㅤin my nasturtiums
ㅤㅤJimmy! Your old adversary!
ㅤㅤbut he no longer knows it’s there.
Oh, so what?
Forget the groundhog.
Jimmy’s on a different trail now.
One we all follow,
every living one of us.
Catherine Allen is a cultural anthropologist and writer living in Greenbelt, Maryland. After many years of doing research in highland Peru and teaching anthropology at George Washington University, she retired from academia to devote herself to poetry. Catherine’s poems have been published in Rhino, The Ekphrastic Review, Passager (honorable mention, 2021 Poetry Contest), The American Writers Review, and Anthropology and Humanism, among others. She’s also published ethnography, drama, and translations from the Quechua language.
Her collection We Return As Rain is available from Swan Scythe Press.
You can purchase The Avenue Journal Issue X: Dogs in paperback at Bookshop.org, or, if you prefer it in digital format, you can download the ebook in .epub format for pay-what-you-can (suggested donation $9) at ko-fi.