Poetry Friday: "Dharma" by Billy Collins

 

Photo courtesy of Tati Hilabi, Pixabay. 

Monday morning, while walking and listening to Sad Boy Noah Kahan, I met the handsomest boy, who wasn't sad at all. I asked his person what his name was. Jake! It was Jake. A perfect name for a lumbering, retriever-y, labradorian-kinda guy with a thick, coppery coat and sprays of gray on his aging, distinguished cheeks. Jake and I immediately became best friends. I'd invite Jake over to spend some time together, but I didn't catch his last name, and it would be awkward to invite him and ignore his person (which I would totally do.) 

Who was walking Jake anyway? A man, a woman? A robot? Who knows, who cares? My relationship is solely with Jake, who made me think of "Dharma" by Billy Collins. I think Jake would like this poem, good, handsome, not-sad boy that he is. 

{Postscript: Do I need to get another dog?} 

{{Post-postscript: Maisy would say no, no. Most definitely, decidedly not. Do not mess around with her current lifestyle.}} 

Dharma 

by Billy Collins 

The way the dog trots out the front door

every morning

without a hat or an umbrella,

without any money

or the keys to her dog house

never fails to fill the saucer of my heart

with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example

of a life without encumbrance—

Thoreau in his curtainless hut

with a single plate, a single spoon?

Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world

with nothing but her brown coat

and her modest blue collar,

....

(Read the rest here, at the Poetry Foundation.) 

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by Mona Voelkel.