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.
On a perfectly normal Saturday, the kind where normal humans do normal human things, I log online to check my bank account for fraud...
Whatever touch I had is gone. Maybe I never had it. That would be better. One can't throw away a non-belonging. Can't chase after the dump truck for some treasure that isn't there.
I didn’t get you roses from Ecuador, nor one of those cards you grab, in a rush, at the checkout line...
