As an old dog, he has survived
the marriage of his master to a Nutmeg woman,
the first clumsy steps of sandy-haired toddlers,
and the crises of moves around eastern states.
So in the gentle first light of morning
he rolls leisurely in piles of yesterday’s clothes
left over from last night’s baths by little boys.
Then slowly, with a slight limp.
he enters his daily routine,
approaching the kitchen at the breakfast rush hour
to quietly consume spilled cereal
and dodge congested foot traffic.
Sure of his place in a system of change
he lays down to sleep on an air vent.
A family grows around him.
—Gladding, 1989