Four Poems by Peter Mladinic

Photo by Helena Lopes

 Duke

 

An old dog lay in a ditch, 

gray muzzle, big eyes, a microchip.

When she contacted the owner,

they didn’t want the dog, 

which leads me to think that person 

had abandoned it. Or maybe 

the dog had wandered off.

It’s odd to chip the dog, 

then not want it back. She 

herself can’t keep it. If I prayed 

I’d pray that dog finds a home

where it won’t be neglected. 

Or this: if I prayed I’d pray the one

who abandoned the dog, in turn,

gets dumped, left in a ditch 

of their own making. 

I don’t know their circumstances, 

it’s easy to judge. Maybe

things happened where they 

couldn’t care for the dog,

or looked for but couldn’t find

a no-kill shelter. Years ago

my mother’s Duke

got lost in a city. The pound 

called and her father said,

“That dog is old. Put it to sleep.”

Put you to sleep, you evil bastard.

On the Death of a Year-Old Cat

at What Was Once a No-Kill Shelter 

 

There’s no cage for your water and food, 

no corner for you to sleep and wake in. 

No kind touch for you, only the table, 

the needle’s poison, the end of today, 

the land of nonbeing, the fire, the ashes.

Precious to Me

 

More than anyone or anything, 

my little dog and I am

whatever I am to you, 

my cocker-poodle 

of blonde wavelets, long 

ears, short legs; more 

mystery in your body 

than in courtyard shadows 

of childhood. I go to your eyes

for the exotic. Darkly 

I walked out a door and 

you, who’d been living near

a dumpster, waddled to me,

shaggy, disheveled, 

in a state of grace.

The Dog Ate My Homework

 

An animal rights advocate I have a list

called my favorite rescues. 

I won’t bore you going down the list of 

names you could easily look up.

Each time I come to it, in my trusty notepad

app, I keep seeing excuses, my favorite 

excuses, my mind subbing the one noun

for the other, so now I’m thinking is there

a similarity?  Excuse and rescue sound

and look a bit similar.  Now I’m thinking 

of Jimmy Semlar. Is he still alive? Who lived

down the street from the first police officer

I ever knew, who wore a uniform with 

buttons on both sides of his chest. I don’t 

see too many like that anymore, except in 

noir films. Come to think of it, there aren’t 

many dogs in noir films, more cats than 

dogs. If Jimmy Semlar is alive, does he live 

with a cat? Would he hear and see the 

sameness in rescue and excuse?  Has he 

read David Ignatow’s “Rescue the Dead”? 

I recall Jimmy’s nose in the book about Dick 

and Jane and Spot, and the brass buttons 

on the chest of my friend Billy’s father. I 

wear excuses, like the herringbone vest I 

buttoned and unbuttoned the Sunday 

Ignatow read at the Walker and fate made 

me his audience, one of the crowd, hearing 

“You who are free…”

© Peter Mladinic

Peter Mladinic's most recent book of poems, Files of Information on People Who Don't Exist, is available from BlazeVOX books.  An animal rights advocate, he lives in Hobbs, New Mexico, United States.