Blackie

Ode to Blackie

The middle of the road was his usual spot

arrogant little mutt

It used to be peaceful near the point

across from the Hood Canal cut

There weren’t many lived there, he sat for hours

waiting for master’s car

Yawning, stretching, rolling in dirt

holding court with friends from afar

As folks moved in, his street cred spread

the point was Blackie’s stage

He challenged all-comers, Ford’s and Chevy’s

and drivers learned of road rage

When V-eights roared around the bend

Blackie lay across the track

They honked, they cursed, they raised their fists

the mutt would never crack

Trucks and cars drove on grass verge

no-one ever won

In settling dust Blackie ambled away

like Clint with smoking gun

But age caught up with little Blackie

he was running out of luck

One hot and dusty afternoon

he faced a big arse truck

The driver sat with fearless eyes

pumping gas and gripping wheel

Blackie sat with back to monster

His nerves were made of steel

Rubber burned as the truck took off

and Blackie somehow knew

if he didn’t move his butt right then

he’d be squashed blacktop stew

He raised himself unsteadily

his head bowed in defeat

Some say he smiled and wagged his tail

as the fender mashed his seat

Now Blackie has gone to heaven

beware when you enter there

he’ll be waiting by the pearly gates

with a growl and warning stare

If you were the driver of that truck

who dared to end his reign

beware my friend, he has a plan

you’re off to hell again

With bared white fangs and bulging eyes

he’ll never let you be

He’ll stand defient with slobbering jaw

growling, ‘Hey dude, remember me?’

Other drivers care no more

you can breathe a grateful sigh

as Blackie takes his usual spot

but lets you all pass by.

I duelled with Blackie every day for two years. Then one sad day he was gone.

Copyright Raymond B. Stone 2001©