Festus was my hero,

Festus rode a mule,

Festus was an honest man,

Who never went to school.



We need some more like Festus,

It’d be a better place,

A smile behind the trail dust,

And the whiskers on his face.



Named my dog after Festus,

His whiskers made him so,

Hangy-down ears and uppity,

Just like Festus.



Festus liked to run away,

Scurry ‘bout the town,

Chase and chase, we’d chase him,

Till we were all wore down



And then one day,

While scurrying,

In front of a car he went.

I witnessed it,

He yelped and yelped so such.

Festus he had,

Hurt himself,

Hurt himself inside.

Slowly,

Three days later,

Festus died.



I’ll get another,

Dog someday,

Name him Festus,

If it’s right.

We whiskered buddies,

Will entertain the town,

Me and Festus,

Will entertain the town.

Mark Sannes is an occasional poetic contributor from Kasson, where the sirens sound at noon for lunch, 5:30 for supper and 10 o’clock to check if your kids have snuck out their bedroom window. The Post Bulletin publishes poetry by local and area writers every Monday. Send poems to Meredith Williams at life@postbulletin.com.