shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Pamela Sumners


Elegy for a Good Boy

No one sleeps when the old dog has died
because he slept in your bed every night,
wrapped like a G-clef to your side.

No one sleeps when the favorite's died.
Your child weeps; the other dog might
die of dazed grief, too. Your child says

I cannot sleep because the dog has died
and he regrets dog days of August, hot,
when we dared not take him walking outside.

We lavish praise on the dumb younger dog,
a maze of buzz-cut topiary in the brain stem;
we love her but she's not him. She dimly tried.

We dream biscuits for the dog who has died,
one more head pat, belly romp, a hot walk,
but we saw his knowing stare, his final pride—
we've seen the "Let's go" glare from eyes that talk.