Who Would Mess With
a Boxer Named Killer

Sometimes I get so lonely I wish I had a dog he would become my best friend (as the legend implies) and eventually my drinking buddy for life he’d teach me to bark at nothing and how to lick my own testicles I’d teach him the difference between a smoked porter and a wheat ale how to open a beer using only your lighter I would write poems about him chasing light-green tennis balls in the backyard his tail dividing empty specks of air slobber slinking from the eaves of his sharp teeth I imagine him to be a boxer and maybe just for fun I would call him killer we’d sit at the bar drinking double chocolate stouts and eating salty pretzels smart-mouthing anyone who dared flash a funny eye.

C Allen Rearick

If you've any comments about this poem, C Allen Rearick would be pleased to hear from you.