Funnel
A dog walks around the yard
With a funnel around its neck.
Its tongue drapes out from
Below his upper lip,
Daubing the plastic cone
With his ever-draining saliva,
Crusting it with his spit.
Yet,
He grins,
Smiling stupid,
In a moron's way,
Grimacing at the sunlight
As it sifts through the pellucid film
That protects him,
And into his bicolor eyes.
The monochromatic sight of his
Glows in all its early 1930's
Stock-nitrate glory,
Time burning out around the edges.
All the while,
He can't chew at the incisions,
Or gnaw at his stitches,
Or aggravate the abrasions—
The staples in his skin.
There's no licking the sutures or rashes
While the wounds heal.
The dog can't do much of anything,
But whimper and grin.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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