'Toto Binglebong', by Vern Fein

TOTO BINGLEBONG

Have you ever wanted to die before your dog? Or just had the thought?
My sweet dog Butter is racing me in that direction.

The idea of losing her, of coming into the house not seeing those eyes
can be maddening, makes you try to erase your mind for a bit.

Recently, I saw a snippet in a magazine about our radical protest of the Vietnam war,
my mind’s eye saw him back then, a cock-a-poo, black mop, his shaggy self bounding,
bouncing.

Toto was a product of a bad break-up. The heart I crushed couldn’t keep him around.
He was mostly hers, but became mine and on into the next girlfriend.

One afternoon he was hit by a car. No money for a vet but we took him anyway.
Vet said surgery, but it was touch and go. “I’ll call you in the morning.” 

8 am, 9 am, no call, the worst fears ruled. I called. “Oh, he’s just fine.” 
“Why didn’t you call me!“ I yelled, joy muting my anger. 

The second girlfriend and I split. The War raged on. Alone with Toto,
I even took him to a protest. Teargas in his little eyes. 

Yes, I was a young jerk who loved that dog, but could not take care of him well.
Or maybe I wanted to forget. An old lady who hoarded dogs in her trailer took him. 

I can’t put my hands over my mind. I still see that good-bye look.
So when Butter looks at me,  sometimes I see Toto Binglebong.

A recent octogenarian, Vern Fein, has published over 300 poems and short prose pieces in over 100 different sites. A few are: Gyroscope Review, Young Raven’s Review, Bindweed, Sybil Journal,  River And South, Grey Sparrow Journal, and Rat's Ass Review .  His second poetry book—REFLECTION ON DOTS—was released late last year.