dash

joke book

My Dog has no Nose


My dog has no nose. Then how does he smell?
My wife went gadding off to the West Indies.
Those awful jokes I told and I still tell.

She went. Her own accord. And we are well.
Sheís in Jamaica now. My dog is with me.
My dog without a nose. What does he smell?

Defeat? He nuzzles me. And for a spell,
the fly, the soup, the too-young-to-smoke chimney,
arenít awful jokes. Just old. Or so I tell

the dark. The lightbulb will not change itself,
and nor will I. I sulk. What if I stink? He
(my dog, no nose) adores me. He canít smell.

A door is not a door, when itísÖ? (Donít yell)
ajar. I am ajar, alone, unhinging.
Those awful jokes I told and still I tell

the ache that longs to answer when no bell
has rung. Knock knock. A slamming door. Cold. Windy.
My dog has no nose. So how does he smell?
Awful, I suppose. The joke is: I canít tell.

Joe Crocker

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Joe Crocker  
would be pleased to hear them.


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