A magnet,
My dog has the powers of attraction.
I watch from my pandemic perch at the dining room table
As my family walks into the room,
Each one drawn to the couch
By E’s tractor beam.
To his credit, he lets us in,
Scratching his chest,
Patting his ribs,
Talking the gibberish we all do,
And he always gives the obligatory kiss.

People could learn a lot from dogs.

Midweek blahs got interrupted
By daily afternoon dog barking
As my pit defending our territory
From the training wheel convoy
Of little kids outside.
Every day the little ones are out there
Parents spaced apart
Watching the rug rats ride circles
With their wobbly balance.
Every day my dog runs to the open door
Giving a menacing look and deep growl
Before he turns around,
Jumps on the couch,
Curls into a ball,
And forgets the whole thing until tomorrow.

The wind blew too many trees down for the power lines to handle. My dog, scared by the silence of power outages, and I sat at the dinner table. His ears were pulled back, a sure sign that he was afraid of the arrival of nature’s next indignity to hit in April. While his ears were low, his eyes were alert for any crumb that might fall from my dinner of bagels dipped in olive oil. He patiently waited until I offered him a small saturated piece. With no grace at all, he brutishly plucked it from my fingers. Delicious.

I stood from my chair,
Walked over to my sleeping dog,
The evening light from the front door
Still strong enough where I could clearly see
His graying snout and my wrinkled hands.

His heavy breathing was calming,
I took a moment to just pet him,
Thinking of the current madness,
Thinking back as far as I could,
Remembering what has happened.

Grainy memories of Tet and Watergate,
Adolescent patriotism versus Iran and Russia,
The horror of LA, the shock of space shuttles,
Disbelief during 9/11, and
Confusion as to how life goes on now.

History’s calamities painting an aging picture,
The past an unwavering indictment of our worst,
Even so in our present as germs infect lungs, politics, and decency.
Time seems to wreak havoc on society
Much like the grays creep into a snout and wrinkles into hands.

The moment was too beautiful,
This golden hour of light glowing with an ease of spirit.
I sat next to my trusty pit, his soul having been dipped in good,
Leaned my head to his ribs,
And listened to the easy sound of his breathing.