Good Dog Benji, 2nd draft

Photo by Courtney Roberson on Unsplash

I sent out the first draft of this poem on June 3rd. I knew as soon as I wrote it that it was one of the first ones I wanted to revise and re-work. The moment as it happened was so deeply human, and the words are just not catching it the way I want them to — yet.

The dog, front legs planted underneath his broad chest

stopped as if dipped in concrete.

The man gathered the dog in his arms,

touched his nose to one softly tilted dog ear,

walked heavily, carefully, a few steps

while the dog let his tongue hang

brushing against the man's forearm.

A rush of grief made me shiver where I sat on the park bench.

The man put down the dog,

who shook his head and quivered

(in that way that dogs do)

started walking down the path -- bouncing and slow.

"His name is Benji," said the man.

"Would you like to say hello?"

Benji pushed his gray snout under my hand,

rubbed a heavy shoulder against my leg,

soft as the late summer light falling across the path.

Benji’s breath sat lightly in his lungs,

ready for departure.

"People are afraid of dogs like him.

They don't understand.

He's a sweetheart.

I rescued him when he was nine years old.

He's been nine years old for five years now."

The man stood at Benji's shoulder,

his eyes holding Benji in place.

"I lost two dogs in one year,"

the man's brown eyes glittered with tears.

"I though I was going to lose Benji too--

but he made it.

So far, he made it."