A poetry group I belong to at Facebook came up with a contest. Write a poem beginning with 'Face' and ending in 'Book.' I did that, but my poem is too long for the contest guidelines. I mentioned I'd written one, here at my blog and on Facebook. Well, that spurred curiosity. People have visited this blog in hopes of finding the poem, according to the keywords showing on search inquiries. Others have asked me by email and in person, "Where's the poem?" I usually don't place a poem on my blog unless it's been published. But this time, to make a few people happy, I'm sharing the poem here with you. It'll be part of my forthcoming collection, 'Notes from a Florida Village.' And naturally, it will be revised several more times because I have a red pen and my fingers itch.
Facebook, Wall to Wall
Face love like war, daughter,
and gird your vitals with more than simple trust.
There’s much to be gained by watching dogs—the male
shows, snared by scent, then mounts and goes his addled way.
The female receives, often willingly, and once she’s done
needs only her litter, and those for only a little while. Dogs,
you see, have mastered the artifices of love, and it worked
because we have lots of them lifting a leg on corner hydrants,
barking at the moon and waking neighbors, chasing cats
and overturning trash or perhaps stealing a sandwich
right off your lunch table. There’s no love war between dogs.
But here’s the truth. With men, there’s war aplenty,
even when you’re skirmishing with the best of them.
And if you’re not doing battle with the best, walk away
like a warrior sated, do your nails or climb a mountain.
Open a bottle of wine, read some poems and close the book.
—Kay B. Day/copyright Kay B. Day, all rights reserved.
From the forthcoming collection, ‘Notes from a Florida Village’