The Poet's Dog

I
When I discourage
I arrive at the poet's house,
Crunching the fallen twigs under foot
To alert the poet's dog to start barking and scratching;
Signalling to the both of us that it's time to do that best
         and most difficult thing.

II
When I first met the dog in writing class,
She was convalescing from a heart operation.
Eleven years old - eleven pills a day,
Just to do her time;
Sleeping on the poet's lap with tears in her eye.

III
After, in the poet's office,
She ran around the small expanse,
Searching for her water bowl;
Then scratching at my stonewashed jeans
To efface one of the new ever-forgettable fads springing up
...