There are
a million small dogs in this pool.
I cannot
get in the pool because of the million small dogs.
“Hey, get
in,” says the lifeguard
“You can
do lots of things in the pool except swim.
For
example, you can pet the small dogs.”
I stand
there in my bathing trunks
Goggles
on, looking at the yapping, heaving mess of fur.
“You
mean...I...should just jump in?”
The
lifeguard says: “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I jump,
and land on piles of claw and teeth and paw and fur
I sneeze.
Someone paws at my swim trunks. My swim trunks are off.
I am
naked in this pool of small dogs.
“Pet the
dogs!” cries the lifeguard
But
stressed, bloodied, nude-- I crawl my way
To the
ladder to get out of the pool
“You
braved it!” smiles the lifeguard, gap-toothed
“Sorry
about that Dachshund.
Wanna
join me for a drink?”
You might
be surprised to learn
I later
married that lifeguard
You might
be surprised to learn
Small Dog
Pools took off
We just
had to de-claw the dogs
Grind
their teeth down
Treat for
fleas
Many
people prefer the sensation of fur
To that
of water
It’s warm
Plus you
get--
the wet
nose
the quick
lick of the tongue
And we
took out that pervie Dachshund
Who
always stole people’s swim trunks
No one
wants to feel so vulnerable
So
egregiously exposed
