The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's.
--Mark Twain

Mark Twain and Some Fly Bitches

Hard to keep yourself from
picturing Mark Twain kickin' it
with some fine bitches and bad-ass
dobermans somewhere in
Dog Heaven, which, to be honest,
must be a pretty cool place.
Just lettin' it all hang out.
Dozing off in a dreamland
filled with easy cats and lots of
smelly dead stuff. Dog days
every day. Bathing? Yeah, right.
And not a single poser or faker
anywhere to be found. Wicked
thoughts are smelled before they
manifest themselves; they're cast out
almost as fast as a hound smells
blood. And almost as resolutely as
he cherishes the odors of love and
kindness. A place where they know
what you're about even before you
walk into the room, where a
single kindness is always returned
with infinitely more kindness,
where folks are up front about
the fact that the most precious
things in heaven or on earth,
or anywhere else for that matter,
are the glorious smells that make
it all make sense somehow.
Mr. Twain is right, of course,
to want to be there. I would
wish the same for myself if I
weren't so certain they can make out
the stench of my dissidence and self-
loathing even from way down
here below. I can hear them
already saying no.

(2007)