The Jack Russell Poem by Della Perry

He reclines at the rear of the grey sofa
Imprinting his shape into cushions that will never regain their shape
Exhausted from stressful howling at the view
of workmen smoking on driveways
Blowing smoke nonchalantly into the cold, February breeze
Pointing and laughing at the dog show.
Earlier he crazed himself into a manic frenzy
So much so that now he cares not that the same men stand there
His breathing is slowing
He has stretched out against the warm radiator
Heating his tiny paws
His rough coat lifting up and down as he breathes steadily
Tail tucked beneath the dark spot on his bottom
The television drones
A Dali type melting clock ticks loudly from the mantel
The wind shakes the trees outside
As the workmen's smoke drifts through the branches
The hound sleeps.