My Ego Seen from Space
I puff out my chest
like a doberman
feel really good about myself
for no reason
at all,
why must there be a reason?
why must there always be
a reason?
I don’t need a reason.
I don’t need any reason.
I don’t need wheel chair access
or plated scallions
either.
Or marmalade
or hopscotch
or hedge
funds…
I am my own man,
my own beleaguered
self.
I look out windows
smell flowers
reinvent the dog
whistle…
Long mornings of GURD
and many alcoholic
nights.
But now
I puff out my chest
like a doberman
in the mirror,
stand erect
like some of that
wood checkered fencing
people position under their decks
so skunks and raccoons
and vagrants
must make other
accommodations.