Sample Poems by Robert Paul Allen

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Off Course

When my young boys ran into the house
shouting, “There’s a horse in the back yard”!!!,
I ran out to see. They were not far off,
There she stood, a Cow Moose, six feet high.

She flapped her ears and stared back at me
as if I was from another planet.
I kept back as she ambled up the drive.
She avoided the sidewalks, and meandered

down Main Street towards town center.
Soon cars were backed up in both directions.
People at each end of the line, who couldn’t see
the moose, began to honk their horns.

The commotion seemed to spur her forward.
She loped past the church to the bank,
then paused to eat flowers in a concrete planter.
The police showed up and Officer McCoy

armed with his taser and handgun stood there,
took off his hat and scratched his head.
He watched and waited then followed her
in his cruiser, lights flashing, no siren.

She headed toward the stores downtown,
There the moose stopped by the dress shop.
They didn’t have her size, so she went on
to the pizzeria. She stood transfixed by the dough

as it spun through the air. When the door slammed
shut, she moved on to the bridge. With four giant
steps of her spindly legs she strode down the steep
slope into the water. Gangly and awkward

on land, she swam masterfully across the river.
On the far shore, she clambered up the muddy
bank, paused, and stood looking back at us
as if to apologize for all the fuss.

Then she turned, put her head down, and trotted
straight into the Maine woods, back on course.

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Old Friends

Together. After so many years apart,
a seamless reunion. In minutes we have,
reinserted ourselves into each other’s lives
like missing pieces of a puzzle retrieved

from under dusty baseboard heaters.
We laugh, reminisce about our friends,
scattered far and wide. Buoyed by the aroma
and flavor of home cooking, we relax around

the table on the raised porch watching
palms stir across the pond. The talk settles
on absent pieces, lost siblings, a daughter’s
twins born too early, how we dealt

with parents’ last days. Did our mothers’
ever forgive us for selling their cars
or convincing them to move from their homes?
Defensible perhaps, but not their choice.

Lost pieces blindsided us, a son’s
suicide, children’s divorces.
We console each other as we squirm, look
away, nagged by the unasked question,

“Were we to blame”? Going forward
we must struggle with high tech, our bodies’
decline, and being allowed to offer
advice only when asked.

The final pieces, who will fill them in?

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Molly

How did she become my dog?
We bought her for the kids.

She taught them the responsibility
of a pet to love. And love her they did.

But Molly, our Old English Sheepdog
bonded with me, old Dad. She slept on the floor

by my side of the bed. When medical emergencies
called for my expertise, she followed me

to the kitchen door. On my return home,
she was still there, waiting to follow me back.

to our bedroom for some last clutches at sleep.
When I left town for a meeting, she slept

downstairs by the door, awaiting my return.
Why did she choose me?

Maybe because I made sure her food bowl
never stayed empty too long?

All of us loved Molly, our wild-haired ball of fluff,
even at age 12…when it was ‘her time.’

She couldn’t stand up, every movement
seemed to hurt. We planned her safe passage

when the kids were at summer camp.
The vet agreed. That day arrived,

and I carried her to the car. I drove by the Vet’s office,
and missed the turn. Then I missed

it again—distracted by a crow pecking roadkill.
On my third attempt, the steering wheel felt stuck.

When at last we arrived, the vet asked
if I wanted to watch. I said no thank you,

and handed over the leash. Molly looked at me;
where was I going?

“Molly, you are in good hands,” I said,
then rushed away, a thief fleeing police.

Started the car. Turned the radio volume high.
Blubbered like a toddler receiving

a vaccination. No tissues, so I wiped
my eyes with my hands, strapped on

the seat belt, managed to slip
the transmission into drive.

How did the car find its way home?

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You know you are getting old

when the errands you used to tack on
before or after work become
the main event of the day.

When you no longer think about
trading in your car for a newer model
because your odometer has hardly moved.

When your doctor takes away
your Lipitor, telling you, it won’t make
any difference now.

When your wife suggests
you both might sleep better
in separate beds.

When the kids start arguing
over whom will get your favorite
oil painting of Chimney Pond.

When you start calling your grandkids
by their parents first names
and your pets by their predecessors.
When you need help to play a movie
on your TV, set your alarm,
or withdraw money from an ATM.

When those in the younger generation
look at you, smile knowingly,
and say, “My aren’t you looking good!”