How I Got My Editor Jack

A dog orphaned three times by its people,
gave up on suburban utopias
with twist-tied poop bags littering her daily walk.

She wandered around the midwest until she found
the Iowa cult that believed in the Dog God Palindrome Paradox.
They fed her red meat each day fresh from the butcher.

This dog was unaware the devoted Dog God followers
were fattening her up to be a sacrificial lamb
to their paradoxical belief set.

A wandering God unaffiliated with the Dog God cult,
always wanted a Jack Russel Terrier
and sent a sign warning of the impending treachery to the dog.

Most sadly, if the dog were a Poodle
this wandering God would have passed it by
and let the cult commit their divine violence.

That night the dog dug under the compound’s fence
and slipped under it toward freedom and cornfields
but no squirrels, being in a particularly treeless part of Iowa.

The dog headed west on Horace Greely’s advice,
in the blah blah blah Ginger manner of dogs.
There is no telling how she crossed all the intervening rivers.

Eventually the dog reached my Rocky Mountain valley.
By that time she was a sad-ass-bedraggled dog with no tail-wag
who was sure she did not wish to survive on road-kill anymore.

She had seen thousands of cars zoom by without stopping.
She had nearly died from eating plague bearing marmots.
She had deduced garbage dumps were mouse traps.

I did not invite her into the house.
She arrived smelling the water from the automatic-watering trough
I maintain for my neighbor’s corralled horse Houdini.

My door was open and the dog moved in without a by your leave.
She did not pay me much mind.
I ignored her thinking she would go away on her own.

The dog watched me write poetry and go about my business.
In the evening I tried out my new literary works on her.
She barked at every spelling and grammar mistake I made.

Every writer requires a good editor.
A four legged one caught me by surprise.
But who am I to argue with an editor dropped off by a wandering God.

copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney


Dianne helps me edit my poems and other writings. She is the most beautiful woman in the world. If you have not guessed it, I am in love with Dianne.

The blah blah blah Ginger is taken from a Far Side comic by Gary Larson. So many internet bloggers have used or referenced it in one way or another I assume it is fair game for my poem.

To the best of my knowledge there is no Dog goD palindrome paradox cult in Iowa or any other state of the union. If there was to be a state hosting such a cult, I would think it to be New Mexico. We seem to unintentionally encourage religions and cults through our state’s easy going lifestyle.

If you are a writer, you require a good editor. If you think not, you are fooling yourself. If you find a good editor, hold on to him/her for as long as you can since good editors are hard to come by—scarce as hen’s teeth.

Scarce as hen’s teeth is an old saying. I wonder if there is a place that old sayings go to die? I once had a dictionary of all the english words that fell out of usage over the last hundred years (I had it in the early 2000s). I lent it to some one who never returned it. People who borrow books and never return or replace them (if lost) have a special place in hell to go to when once they are dead. That sentiment would hold more weight if I believed in hell. Okay, they go to Milwaukee with the curse they always have to pay for the first round of beer.

Love & Light


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