Who Would Mess With
a Boxer Named Killer


I get so lonely
I wish I had a dog

he would become my best friend
(as the legend implies)
and eventually my drinking buddy
for life

he’d teach me to bark at nothing
and how to lick my own testicles

I’d teach him the difference
between a smoked porter and a wheat ale
how to open a beer using only your lighter

I would write poems about him
chasing light-green tennis balls
in the backyard
his tail dividing empty specks of air
slobber slinking from the eaves
of his sharp teeth

I imagine him to be a boxer

and maybe
just for fun
I would call him killer

we’d sit at the bar
drinking double chocolate stouts
and eating salty pretzels

smart-mouthing anyone who
dared flash a funny


C Allen Rearick

If you've any comments about this poem, C Allen Rearick would be pleased to hear from you.