Today's poem is by Jo McDougall


You would think the dog,
lemon-sized brain notwithstanding,
would understand by now
that the truck with the broken muffler
passing down our street each night
is not his master's truck
and will not turn into our driveway;
the familiar key will not undress itself
in our lock.
Still, he bounds to the door
at the muffler's first faint cough.
Thus hope outfoxes reason,
the dog and I growing dumber by the week.

Copyright © 2015 Jo McDougall All rights reserved
from In the Home of the Famous Dead
The University of Arkansas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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