Dog at Dawn

Ghoulish numbers on the clock:

it's three.

Farewell sleep, I sigh,

and finding slippers

shuffle past

sleeping spouse,

squeaking boards,

whining hinge,

and then,

the thumping starts.

Sprawled like a tart on vacation

I find you on a couch,

"Silly goose! Let the belly rubs begin!"

Frenzied wags,

as if it's been months,

my cheek on your unbearably soft muzzle,

your sleepy eyes look into mine,

your tail,

beating the crap out of the couch,

and I think,

how sweet you are, My Silly Goose.

I'm so glad

of all the gin joints in the world,

that you came into mine.