Calling me home

A Poem by Maxwell Ryder

I have reached that age of an old dog,
losing his old tricks
I refuse to speak, sit, or roll
for masters and fools.
I’m lost in a world of baiting and clicks.
Thank you for that, Facebook;
Alzheimer’s is on the move.
Stubborn and stupid has arrived too soon,
and my cloud is full;
My wallet’s too small to buy more room,
Or harvest my data in fields of gold.
Old age is making it rain below,
seeding gloom;
I’m about to be a raging tempest soon;
Breaking wind, I also can’t control.
And like mutt who wonders the streets,
I’m scared of heaven’s lightning bolt,
And my Owner calling me home.