PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

During my childhood in the: During my childhood in the sixties, we were subjected to all kinds of war porn in support of the conflict in Viet Nam.  In second grade, many of us boys asked for, and received from our parents, small "green berets" during the time that particular ballad was on the radio.  In my school, our third grade gym teacher was a former Marine and he wasted at least a quarter of each gyn class hour teaching us to respond to his shouts like TenHut and ParadeRest, and so forth.  Even in Cub Scouts, and, later, my two years in Scouting, there was an intensely militaristic "vibe" in everything we were taught and required to do; that vive, and, also, a tacit demand for conformity.  Even when I went up to college, my parents were dismayed that I attend class in bell-bottom jeans and, on balmy days, flipflops instead of shoes and socks.  

Thank you very much for: Thank you very much for commenting on this small tale about the smallest member of my family, yet one who is so big-hearted.  Yes, she was traumatized and never ventured up there again.  When we first rescued Zoey, she could not climb up the three front porch steps at the residence in which we were then living.  By the time we brought my mother to live with us, in the larger house, she could almost leap up the steps to the bookroom, and, on the afternoon of the sighting, she came down those steps with equal speed.      Zoey also had a way of diagnosing us when we are facing an illness.  She would approach whichever one of us was sick, and just sit and stare into our eyes, as if she was obsessing over something.  Within twenty-four hours or less, whichever one of us was stared at became ill.  She has a fairly accurate record with that, until recently.  Now she is lame and tired all the time, and sleeps most of the day and night.       When I was thirteen, my parents bought me a very pedigreed cocker spaniel pup, jet black, whom I named Monica, and with whom I bonded immediately.  She could read all of my moods.  Twelve years later, she developed a stomach cancer, and the vet wanted to put her down.  I asked him how long she might have to live, and he said a matter of three or four months.  I asked him if she was in pain, and he said no, and even demonstrated by pressing her abdomen and she did not respond.  He said it would eventually become too painful for her to stretch out on the flloor.  I told him if he thought she had three or four months, we would give it to her and bring her in only upon the very first indication of pain.  That was in the summer of 1983; Monica lived until late May of 1986.  She had stretched out that May morning and began to whimper, so, while I was at work, my father took her to the vet.  I never thought I would ever meet another dog as empathetic as Monica was, until I met Zoey.  

Knowing you, your collection: Knowing you, your collection of books was amazing, so perhaps Mrs. Brown just wanted to take a peek.   What a fascinating story. Sometimes real life experience is more compelling than fiction, especially when narrated with skill.   Just sorry little Zoey was traumatized.      

An urgent call for a more: An urgent call for a more egalitarian, a more civilized, worldview. I was struck by your inventive, poignant and visionary approach to the subject. Nothing stale or preachy here! Perhaps it all begins in the heart of a true Poet.    Well said!     

Thank you!: Thank you for your kind words, much appreciated. ☺️

Nostalgia is quite like a: Nostalgia is quite like a grain of sand isn't it? How something so light can be so heavy, I will never know. Amazing write. I am so happy that you still write.    Whatever brought you to the writing of this poem.... I do hope the fleeting memory at least brings a smile or two.