Sprawled out on our cold bathroom floor there lies
A dog whose life is coming to a close.
His legs are numb; he’s blind and surely knows
The end is nigh. And yet, for now, he tries.
So, with the wall to guide his shaking gait
He wobbles to the kitchen for a drink.
If he’s in pain it doesn’t show. I think
He’ll live a few months more. And so, I’ll wait
And see how long we can delay the end,
Extend our time, repay this loyal pet,
Delay the dreaded trip home from the vet
Without our ever-present furry friend.
What self-inflicted torture we embrace,
To love when death’s the end we have to face.
Again With the Beach
We'll travel to the beach again,
To burn and blister damaged skin,
Inviting sand between our toes,
To infiltrate our bags and clothes –
The lasting signs of where we've been.
So here I am to my chagrin,
The torture shortly to begin,
The dread sustained since she proposed
Why'd we return? I couldn't win!
Though I protested loudly, then
Gave in too quickly I suppose,
And that is how she always knows
Randal A. Burd, Jr. is an educator and editor of Sparks of Calliope. He received his M.Ed. from the University of Missouri. His latest poetry collection, Memoirs of a Witness Tree (Kelsay Books, 2020), is available from Amazon.com. Follow him on Twitter: @colonelrandal.