the friend
The Friend
I dislike the morbidity of the end-of-the-world prophets,
Yet there was a knock on my door, and they were clearing
boulders from the field where I had buried my dog
between two big rocks, opened the bag, a black bin liner
She was there, ok, white bones and
This was a perfect Hamlet moment, but I’m not Yurok
And to use her head as a desk ornament was not on.
There are no secrets in a hamlet, they knew the dog
The remains belonged to me, and I left the bag in the shed
till my wife discovered it. For the time being, the dog’s bones
They are in the back of my car, and when driving, I often see her face
In the back mirror, she wants closure. What we had is
memories, something of no consequence, the love
We shared the flash when the dog and the man are in harmony
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