To Poppy 1986 - 2000.
The dog slept on my shrine.
She’d wanted to sleep on my bed,
but I noticed she kept
scratching herself,
paws digging heatedly at
hidden skin suckers,
teeth snapping killingly
at fleeing fleas,
so when she curled up next to me
I pushed her off my bed.
She settled on my shrine.
The Buddha will not mind
but I would itch.
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