Dog's Day

          a belated note to the editors of

The Norton Anthology of African American Literature

                                 By Alvin Aubert

Your new compendium was touted as the big one

and this is definitely not about sour grapes—its too

far gone for that anyhow seeing as how the damned

thing's already out; all the same, why in hell didn't

any of you see fit to include anything of mine in

your landmark new canon-making omnibus; could

it be you just don't know how damned good I can

be or that I even exist?

or is it that in all innocence you just never came

across any of my stuff despite the fact I had three

going on four books of poems out there—well, sort

of out there—and had poems in outstanding literary

mags as well as in a few other presumably note-

worthy anthologies for going on thirty years and

that I'm the recipient of two National Endowment

for the Arts awards for my poetry.

And I do happen to be African American, which is

what your new canon maker presumably is all

about and I am male and perhaps of significance

in that way, too; of African French and native

American stock, no doubt qualified however per-

riperally in that way to boot and over twenty-five

years ago I even launched a magazine for writers

of African descent worldwide called Obsidian,

that's still going on.

You must've come across my name somewhere;

my stuff's a damned sight better than some that's in

your celebrated compilation, if I say so myself but

never you mind, as the adage goes every dog has

 got his day and this old dog's day is bound to come

whether the old reaper get hold of his shrinking car-

cass first or not and indeed, in time, he might end up

amongst the best of the breed, if only in some pos-

thumous way; and hell (for the sake of some dubious

closing rhyme) I'm way past the age for this kind of

crap today.

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