My dog’s got a great chance to get into Heaven (whatever Heaven might be), but as for myself, I’m not so sure.

Maybe Got it Wrong

We maybe got it wrong,
putting ourselves up here on top,
to claim everlasting souls,
denying our dogs the same

They’ve got our number,
philosophically unencumbered,
self-assured, happy to be dog-like
and knowing life, or so it seems

We question our immortality
and they’re  so confident of theirs
We need the comfort of an afterlife
and they’re far too cool for that

Our metaphysical self tells us
we’ll elbow in somehow
Our complete dogs don’t even ask
don’t need a rung to call their own

If the meek and charitable are winners
over greed and avarice,
the men we measure against our dogs
mostly come up short, including me

Cats don’t count, they know they are God

Poetry Collection: Broken Pieces
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection
available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.