POEM OF THE DAY BY IRIS APPELQUIST

THE DOG

the dog was born
with three legs, which is
a lot better than
one of his legs
having been rent
from his body in
an accident or maiming.
there was no visible scar,
no missing patch of fur
to tell others that he
was once whole; once,
but no longer,
much like themselves.
he learned to walk, still…
even run, even hunt. his life
was just as busy as that
of any dog with
four legs.
he once saw a dog
with five legs—a stunted,
lame leg grown out of its
chest and he felt
a feeling that, for dogs,
is as close to pity
as i can describe.
after adolescence, he
could forget that
he was so obviously different
from other dogs, whose
differences would
require some investigation.
he took several mates
and begat many
children, none of whom shared
his defect. he had trouble
with dances and swimming.
he sometimes became irrational for seemingly
no reason.

-Iris Appelquist