Ruben
My dog died today, went
just after nine.
This poem is supposed
to be on Malta,
The Knights Hospitaller
of Valletta,
but my dog died today,
just after nine,
so I can't write about stone built towers,
blue sea, white sand,
strung out with fishing line,
those hillside vistas,
meadow land flowers
'cause my dog died
today, just after nine.
The vet came in and
asked his name, “Ruben.”
Ruben, who used to
steal bread with jam on
Ruben, who used to soar
like a Falcon
Ruben, who had no legs
left to stand on.
I'm sorry, not much
Malta here. Next time,
'cause, Ruben died
today, just after nine.
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