Jack Foley

Jack Foley wrote this poem after reading Peter Beagle's short story,
"Mr. McCaslin."



 
FOR AN AUTHOR WHOSE OWN NAME NAMES A DOG
 
He comes only for McCaslins
And he has since Cromwell’s time,
The Dark Terrier
That scratches at your door
On your deathday
You wouldn’t think twice about him,
Just a dog,
But he’s the Carrier
Of the Knowledge of your Death
Do you hear him, McCaslin?
Do you hear that scratching?
O it’s time, McCaslin
It’s time
Get your words in order.

 

Copyright © 2008 Jack Foley