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Wouldn’t You Know
My dog’s dead, but suppose
he had read all the Great Books of the
Western World (he lived in California), or at least
something sometime: When he cocked his head
I’m positive I saw that slight hint
of ratiocination in the unfolded lid of
his left eye, and a scintilla of dialectic too.
But he never argued, nor was he combative,
unless you grabbed his food dish while he ate.
I confess I almost made love to him at times,
not physical, of course, but his unresponsiveness
might have been caused by something he read.
I’m combative. I’d jump into the middle
of an argument about, say, string theory
and add my bit, though I don’t know squat about physics.
A philosophy professor I taught with
believed masturbation was a violation of the natural law
because “the penis is ordered to the vagina as plants are ordered
to the soil.” Since I had read some recent Great Books,
I mentioned hydroponics, and my dog might have too,
but he was unborn at the time.
Better to love a Jack Russell terrier than a tome of medieval theology.
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