POEMS


Buck

My old Buck, short for Buckley…he’s our Boston of thirteen years…91 in people time

Two months ago canine vertigo…He stood at a tilt…confused and disabled, just like Pops on morphine, in the throws of hospice care

But unlike Dad, Buck sprang back to life…even though, the tumor malignant, in his left hind, sits happy in the remaining marrow…growing and decapitating…

Today Buck just sits at our bedroom door…quite some time before he comes downstairs, to join us for coffee and morning meditation….

After a while he looked ready for a walk, when I snapped the leash, he barely flinched

Sadly, he looked at me glassy eyed…his nose was a bit dry too…
I don’t have it today he’d say if he could

I scooped him up and carried him outside, I figured at least he would want to pee…he stood, and shivered…it’s 7am and already 80 out…

Where are we?  He asked…his face was filled with Alzheimer’s…no pee, no move, just frozen with trembles…

Pops used to call for his piss pot in his early days at the hospital, but in the end he didn’t want to pee anymore either, not even in his portable plastic urinal…

Do you think they make Doggie Depends?