POETRY: A Dog Named Cliché

They say love is blind

Maybe if love really is blind I should write all my poems in braille.

But even then it doesn’t bode well for love at first sight.

Maybe I’ll adopt a service dog and name him Cliché

But not for guiding me around the streets and stores

It could just help me track down this love.

Does love have a scent?

Why hasn’t my love-hound found anything?

Should I train it to bark louder or is this just the wrong tree?

Maybe love is deaf as well.

Maybe I should learn sign language.

Is love just allergic dogs?

I’m also told there are plenty of fish in the sea,

But my tiny ship has sailed all seven by now,

And I’ve checked the nets for holes over and over,

And my new dog is seasick.

Something’s fishy about this scene altogether,

When I do catch something,

Why is everyone telling me that

If I really love it, do I need to set it free?

I thought love was supposed to set you free?

They say absence make the heart grow fonder,

But my old dog and I have been gone for quite some time now

And though very familiar with this absence,

We are both fondest of presence.

They say love hurts,

and

Time heals all wounds,

and

Just how long do I sit inside this hourglass and let the sand fall on me?

I’m buried up to my shoulders, and my dog is starting to dig holes.

They talk about falling in love.

And I think they got that one right actually.

You don’t jump

Or fly

Or sail a boat

Onto love’s shores.

After all, that would imply you had some control in the matter.

You’ve got to fall.