Out.

A dog trying to write a poem on why he barks,

That’s me, dear reader!

They were about to kick me out of the library

But I warned them,

My master is invisible and all-powerful.

Still, they kept dragging me out by the tail.

In the park the birds spoke freely of their own vexations.

On the bench, I saw an old woman

Cutting her white curly hair with imaginary scissors

While staring into a small pocket mirror.

I didn’t say anything then,

But that night I lay slumped on the floor,

Chewing on a pencil,

Sighing from time to time,

Growling, too, at something out there

I could not bring myself to name.

Charles Simic