Harvey Goldner
"When I was a child, my lesbian aunt, Suzanne, would spend a week or so every summer at my family's vacation home on Lake Wenatchee, here in Washington State. This was before the era of motorcycle helmets, and Suzanne would arrive on her blue Bugatti, her red hair streaming, flaming. While tossing back straight shots of my father's precious scotch, she would mesmerize my twin brother Phil and  I by reading aloud her favorite poets, chiefly Elizabeth Bishop. Eventually, my brother Phil became
an alcoholic & was killed in a motorcycle accident, and I began writing poems."

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The Reverend Raggs, Belovéd Bearded Collie

Harvey Goldner

        Dog is love pure and simple
        very simple
        so that
        when there is no one around
        for dog to love
        dog sleeps.

        Here we are talking about
        a house dog.
        A yard dog
        is something else
        but a house dog is love
        and will sleep on your bed
        even your pillow with his
        tongue in your mouth
        if you let him.

        So if you wish to learn to feel
        the real
        brotherhood of man
        stay far away from reptiles
        and political assemblies.
        Stay far away from church
        unless the minister
        of your church
        is a dog.

        The church I go to is like that.
        Its pastor is a dog.
        His sermons are short:
        a few moans and groans and howls
        and growls and
        whines and woofs
        and then it's over.

        After the sermon
        our congregation
        sits still for an hour or so
        engaged in a quiet orgy of being
        of beaming
        in love.

        I've been told (let me tell you)
        that there are even higher
        forms of love
        but that to know them
        you must travel far
        far
        into the deep bush of Australia
        and there sit at the feet
        of the Pope of Higher Love
        a female kangaroo.