The Friend
I dislike morbidity the end of the world prophets,
yet there was a knock on my door, they were clearing
boulders from the field where I had buried my dog
between to big rocks, opened the bag a black bin liner
she was there ok, white bones and
This was a perfect Hamlet moment, but I’m not Yurok
and to use her head as a desk ornament was not on.
There are no secrets in a hamlet, they knew the dog
remains belonged to me
and I left the bag in the shed
till my wife discovered
it. For the time being the dog’s bones
are in the back of my car, when driving I often see her face
in the back mirror,
she wants closure. What we had is
memories something of no consequence the love
we shared, the flash when dog and man are in harmony
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