YELLOW DOG

Abraham Lincoln, said my father, knew of a tonic

That could make you a new man, with enough left over

To make a little yellow dog. The first part is only sense;

Who does not make a new man each time he wakes

Choosing among those pieces of him that lie to hand?

This memory but not that one; this vice but

Not – never again! – that virtue too dearly bought.

From suchlike things I have conjured myself

At least ten thousand times, without a tonic.

What concerns me now is that yellow dog
Making itself impudently of the parts left over

Bad enough when he barks at me when we pass,

I on my way to work and he off to chase sticks and cats

And other dogs, but worse- far, far worse! –

Those days he grins at me or offers a sympathetic paw.