Morning walk.
Wet boots left near the door,
my coat slung across the shower bar.
I run a towel through my hair.
I no longer miss having to towel off
all 120 pounds of Lab Zeus.
It has been 20 years
since he muzzled-jabbed me awake.
The tea kettle isn’t going to whistle.
Instead, there will be a quiet pop.
If anyone else lived here, they would appreciate that
almost as much as I do. The quiet.
The lap blanket. The chenille robe. Slippers.
Coffee and another good book,
the news in the background
like an underscore in a parody,
ads for an updated iPhone, smart watches,
and bundled insurance.
