The Critic

Kurt Rees

I have this habit,
it is placing printed pages
on the floor.
I will sort through numerous
poems and stories
and put them in piles,
good in one pile
and bad in the next.

My dog came in to say hi.
I pet her behind the ear
and she walked out of the room.
I went back to review my work.
A poem that I couldn’t bring myself
to like,
went into the good pile anyway.

The next four went into the bad pile.
At that time I went to the bathroom.
When I came back,
I noticed a big yellow puddle
on the poem I placed in the good pile.

I didn’t know my dog could read.

Needless to say,
the poem went immediately into
the bad pile.

©Copyright 2013 by Kurt Rees.
All rights reserved

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