Flumes Volume 1 Issue 1 - Page 23

Doorsill

By Taylor Graham

The new pup rattled latches when she came,

and ran a whirlwind through the house;

Master yelled, called her by name. Meteor.

The old dog waits still by the door. He wonders

what happened to his bone, his place beside

Master on the couch. The new pup chews

on his ruff. Nothing as it was before.

The old dog waits still by the door while

puppy gets special walks and collars, treats –

as if she could learn the things he’s done so well.

No one asks him anymore. The old dog waits

still by the door. He’s watched graying dogs

with stiff hind-ends, arthritic, they could barely

stand. Yet each one walked away forevermore.

An old dog waits still by the door.

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