He sits like royalty in the backseat,
tongue flickering out, testing the wind.
The road unspools in front of us,
but behind, a tide pools on leather.
I keep a towel folded neatly,
its corners frayed from too many trips.
Sacred armor against the flood he brings,
his joy dripping in slow, deliberate bursts.
Each globule a punctuation mark—
exclamation! question? period. Every splash
says, “I am here, and I love this.”
The seats bear witness, stained with devotion.
I glance at him in the mirror,
ears flapping, eyes half-shut in bliss.
The highway hums a lullaby,
and his throat hums back, unbothered.
What a genius he is,
to soak the world in his excitement,
to make messes and not apologize.
A wrecking ball of glee, uncontainable.
My towel, a small sacrifice for joy.
For the dog who teaches me
to be unashamed of my overflow.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: June 28th, 2026 04:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Once again you have captured the essence of poetry in your images. I love dogs and have had a few, each a special pleasure. Each has been a drooler but loved them just the same. A lovely poem that does not really personify the dog but makes his qualities admirable. A fave my friend
Thank You Soren
My pleasure Gray
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