SoMa Literary Review - The Poodle Poems

The Poodle Poems

By Shana Mahaffey

Liberated Poodle

I did not mourn when I heard you were dead

fat lifeless body lost.

I celebrated remembering years ago

I wanted to squash your squat body

standing not one foot above the ground,

black beady eyes gleamed superiority

as she dished out chicken and rice

TO YOU! While I watched eating okra.

On no, I did not mourn Grandmother’s toy

spoiled preening Texas poodle Queen.

Perfect pink bows decorate your ears and

polished pink toes click

across the tiles as you run to and fro

yipping Poodle Liberation for all:

burn your bows, no more shampoo.

Doggie baths turned over, ungrateful curls –

Bedraggled, sneaking away on a triple seven jet.

To New York goes the furry fake,

pink toenail clippings, strings of bows in flames.

Cropped ears turned up, shaven tail

nose to the ground as you scale the tracks.

Tinky I’ve found you amongst the subway rats.

Et Tu Shana?

The white caddy backs out, red nails

flutter behind the window. Farewell Grandmother,

party dresses, friends. The perfect pet has been left

in capable and loving hands.

My bulging eyes meet your beady blacks,

eyebrows raise when gray curls are tossed back.

Superior stubby body stands tall on sun porch steps:

the intimidating high class poodle princess,

but she’s gone for the evening, you’re left with me.

Dinner is served my darling Tinky,

your sterling bowl is replaced with plastic.

It is I who dines on chicken and rice, and you

my little troll, are eating Purina Dog Chow tonight.

Tina in Waiting

She told me there was a surprise

waiting at the house. Could it be

a beautiful wrapped package –

adorned with Tinky’s bows?

Favorite friend found stuffed,

enclosed in cardboard coffin.

Plastic breathless nose,

black marble eyes. But

round the corner peeks

the formidable foe

very

much

alive.

Oh my horror What

is that, hovering behind?

Two new beady blacks

to haunt my waking days.

A new playmate for Tinky

smiled the lipsticked fangs.

The whining white weasel wimp

hangs her head when she is called –

Cowering characterless canine the

Malicious Mentor leads,

a simpering sidekick – Poodle Pal

for the Putrid Pet.

Grandmother how can I thank you

for the gift

I won’t

forget.

Also by Shana Mahaffey on SoMa Literary Review : Mao Lives

Shana Mahaffey lives, works, and writes in San Francisco. She is a member of the Sanchez Grotto Annex, a writers' co-op, and she’s just completed her first novel Voices, which is about a voiceover artist with voices in her head.