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The Broom

Andy
poetry
The Broom
265DB8FB-53C7-4918-A38C-BAED4D122A57

He was dying and I didn’t know it.
He was dying and the tests were inconclusive.
He was dying and I changed his diet.
He was dying and he couldn’t tell me.
He was dying and I dreamt of poplars shivering,
a tumor in their lungs.
He was dying and there was nothing more
they could do.
He died and I swept his fur from our house.
He is dead and the broom gathers dust, alone.

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