it gets run over by a van. <br />you find it at the side of the road <br />and bury it. <br />you feel bad about it. <br />you feel bad personally, <br />but you feel bad for your daughter <br />because it was her pet, <br />and she loved it so. <br />she used to croon to it <br />and let it sleep in her bed. <br />you write a poem about it. <br />you call it a poem for your daughter, <br />about the dog getting run over by a van <br />and how you looked after it, <br />took it out into the woods <br />and buried it deep, deep, <br />and that poem turns out so good <br />you're almost glad the little dog <br />was run over, or else you'd never <br />have written that good poem. <br />then you sit down to write <br />a poem about writing a poem <br />about the death of that dog, <br />but while you're writing you <br />hear a woman scream <br />your name, your first name, <br />both syllables, <br />and your heart stops. <br />after a minute, you continue writing. <br />she screams again. <br />you wonder how long this can go on.<br /><br />Raymond Clevie Carver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/your-dog-dies/
