The chihuahua pup desires in again.
He curtly scratches the sliding door glass,
then stares impatiently into the house.
His alert ears twitch and turn like radar
testing the distant reaches of the house
for his dull-witted human’s slow approach.
Then there I am. He wags his approval
then prances past to quickly patrol the house.
My slow days consist of subtle patterns,
mostly woven through the minutiae of
the dog’s daily routines. He calmly herds
me about as I move from room to room,
sitting patiently nearby as I read,
or attempt to write about happiness.
(September 19, 2024)
subtext 