I'm not writing poetry today.
Little Running Horse bolted loose
from her chain and, due to temporary
dog insanity, chased and bit - she bit! -
a sweet, cute, shaking with fright,
little brown dog, who had been
enjoying her walk, peacefully,
while minding her manners.

I told the owner, I was so sorry -
devastatingly sorry is more like it -
and would pay for her dog's medical bills
(even though I'm still unemployed).

Two hours ago the inevitable call came in,
causing me to shake at my obligation,
my emotions, my lack of centeredness -
yes, a minor, peace-of-mind toppling earthquake.
The estimated bill is between $500 and $700.

Here I am, in the middle of,  - TEST TIME!
How will I fair?  Will I see positive
in this canine charge and attack of aggression, 

the following complete canine healing,
and the withdraw from my declining savings?
Will I stand my growing ground, strong,
my mind still envisioning maintaining enough
money until I secure a good-for-me future job,
a sweet salary, in a healing profession, and....
one day, wilderness acres for Little Running Horse
to run in, and music and poetry for me to be me in?

I'm not writing poetry today,
unless perhaps you consider this
a poem, -  a wobbly, swoobly
wibbly, babbly, wubbly poem -
but a poem none the less.