It’s daybreak when the rude alarm
is shut off by your questing arm.
As you roll over, the blanket’s pull
is your daily ritual.
As you leave the room, I do not stir.
I hear the blender’s angry whirr.
I hear you shower, brush and groom,
but stay wrapped in our bed’s warm womb.
I feel your presence. I hear you cough.
A rapid hug and you are off.
And in these hours away from me,
I suspect infidelity.
All day long I wait and wait
in an agitated state
for the creaking of the gate
that says you’ll soon alleviate
my loneliness this whole day through
that I’ve spent pining over you.
I leave the house, then come inside
to find the presents that you hide
to keep me entertained while you
do whatever you must do
to keep a roof over our head—
to provide shelter, food and bed.
Finally, a slamming door,
your footsteps on the hallway floor.
You bend down for our first caress.
and I’m suspicious, I confess.
I smell your collar, arms and cuff
until I’ve gathered facts enough.
I find no odor, no stray hair.
No other dog has tarried there!