by Jude Meche

This is the poem
            about my dog, a
shivering remnant of
mongrelization, a

linguistic conundrum:
purebred cur,

legitimizing a


            heritage of
Choctaw stock,
            Iberian leftovers
and something from
the French
nurtured by gombo, then
adopted by
adapted by
Acadian settlers.

They say Bedouins
take their horses
in tent,
house them as honored
family, see
them as extensions of
personal ego.

We throw ourselves out
            instead sleep on

the ground:             dig bones and
hunt in
unformed coordination
for broken
phrases to house
something more coherent

than motley but

less than kind.

Jude Meche is a Louisiana native and is currently an assistant professor of English at Missouri Southern State University.