The old Irish Setter

I would stare at his wet cobblestone nose

the bristling whiskers that seemed

to be poking fun, fanning  out

either side of that jiggly bubblegum tongue.

I could hide my bruises in the abyss of his eyes…

until I no longer need to hide

for Skipper was my guru and my  guide.

.

.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s