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Today's story concerns adult subject matter for mature listeners.
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If that's not your cup of tea,
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or there are youngsters listening,
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please skip this one
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and come back for another story another time.
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
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Today we present a poem by Rob MacWolf,
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who has never discovered a metaphor not worth taking literally,
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and you can find more of his poetry
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embedded in stories from the Furry Historical Fiction
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Society and on his Sofurry page.
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Read by Cross, a Composed Hyena.
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Please enjoy “Solar Eclipse, Saturday
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October Tenth”, a poem by Rob MacWolf
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The light has turned the color
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of the shadows on his jawline,
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The color of the scent of fur and stubble
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on his jawline. And I? I can do nothing.
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This is happening regardless
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Of anything my will could try to do but won't attempt to.
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His shadow fills the world.
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And all the light, the thoughts, remaining
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Are filtered through him. In the midst of light, we are in darkness.
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So why should I not kneel? So why not bow my head and worship?
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Why not rest my grieving eyes beneath
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his dull gold shadow?
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So why not taste this moment, while it lasts? For just a moment Of sunset in mid-morning, then, let me be his completely.
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And do not doubt it's sunset.
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On the moon, the sun is setting.
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How long the reach of sunset, then, to me from lunar surface.
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And why would sunset bother to reach me from lunar
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surface? The least that I can do is kneel, and bow, and taste, and worship
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A mere matter of minutes till his hand in satisfaction Will rest upon my cheek, upon the shadows on my jawline.
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They say I should not look at him:
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I will burn out my vision.
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What profits it a man to keep his vision by not looking?
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This was “Solar Eclipse,
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Saturday October Tenth”
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by Rob MacWolf, read for you by Cross, a Composed Hyena.
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Thank you for listening
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to The Voice of Dog.
