Often, as the day’s doleful hours grow too heavy
and I long to abandon my many cares,
I think of my dog in his bed, how he has no funerals

to dread, no faux pas to dwell on late into the night,
no incessant questions ringing in his ears. And
it’s then that I’ll notice his muzzle on my lap, a ball

held hopefully in his mouth. He must remain there
a good while, for what else can he do but wait for me,
his only friend, to—at last!—play a game of fetch.