I miss him. When I get back to camp
I’ll dig him up. Well, he can prop & watch,
can’t he, pink or blue,
and I will talk to him. I miss him. Slams,
grand or any, aren’t for the tundra much.
One face-card will do.
It’s marvellous how four sit downâ?”beyond
my thought how many tables sometimes are
in forgotten clubs
across & down the world. Your fever conned
us, pal. Will it work out, my solitaire?
The blubber’s safe in the tubs,
the dogs are still, & all’s well . . . nine long times
I loosed & buried. Then I shot him dead.
I don’t remember why.
The Captain of the supply ship, playing for dimes,
thinks I killed him. The black cards are red
and where’s the others? Iâ?”
(John Berryman)
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Based on Topics: World Poems, Dogs PoemsBased on Keywords: forgotten, thinks, pink, killed, grand, buried, safe, shot, where, ship, miss