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letra de nelson, my dog - gary soto

like the cat he scratches the flea camping in fur
unlike the cat he delights in water up to his ears
he frolics. he catches a crooked stick –
on his back he naps with legs straight up in the air
nelson shudders awake. he responds to love
from head to tail. in happiness
his front legs march in place
and his back legs spark when they push off
on a leash he knows his geography
for your sake he looks both ways before crossing
he sniffs at the sight of a poodle trimmed like a hedge
and he trots the street with you second in command
in the park, he ponders a squirrel attached to a tree
and he shovels a paper cup on his nose
he sweeps after himself with his tail
and there is no hand that doesn’t deserve a l!ck
note this now, my friends:
nelson can account the heritage of heroic dogs:
one, canines lead the blind
two, they enter fire to rescue the child and the child’s toy
three, they swim for the drowning
four, they spring at the thief
five, they paddle ponds for the ball that got away
six, for the elderly they walk side by side to the very end
seven, they search for bones but stop when called
eight, they bring mud to all parties
nine, they poke among the ruins of a burnt house
ten, they forgive what you dish out on a plate

nelson is a companion, this much we know
and if he were a movie star, he would do his own stunts –
o, how he would fly, climb the pant legs of a scoundrel
and stand tall rafting on white-water rivers!
he has befriended the kingdom of animals:
he once ran with wolves but admittedly not very far
he stepped two paces into a cave and peeked at the bear
he sheltered a kitten
he righted the turtle pedaling its stumps on its back
under the wheeling stars he caravanned with the mule
he steered sheep over a hill
he wisely let the skunk p-ss
he growled at the long-bearded miser
he joined ducks quacking with laughter
once he leaped at a pheasant but later whined from guilt

nelson’s black nose is a comp-ss in the wilds
he knows nature. he has spied spires of summer smoke
he circled cold campfires
he howled at a gopher and scratched at the moon
he doctored his wounds with his tongue
he has pawed a star of blood left in snow
he regards the fireplace, the embers like blinking cats
this too we know about nelson
true, he is sometimes tied to parking meters
and sometimes wears the cone of shame from the vet’s office
but again, he is happiness
he presents his belly for a friendly scratch
if you call him, he will drop his tennis ball
look up, and come running
this muddy friend for life. when you bring your nose
to his nose for something like a kiss
you can find yourself in his eyes

- gary soto

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