the dog is always
greener
in the land of
pleasant living
if we could pour
our hands
over the promise
of fence
into wild dandelion
weeds of
contentment
on a fake summer
day
the reticent
dog is the one
to pet
not the meme
celebrity
husky
or perhaps
we want
to live again
in the way
that dogs do
refreshing
the page
every fourteen
seconds
or days or
years
the grandma
calls this celebration
of life a resort
and we call
the dealer’s hand
too forgetful
to recall
the spade
drafted in
the lush
unkempt
garden
shuffle
the cards
repeatedly
to delay
the inevitable
(originally published in Pinhole Poetry, Fall 2023)