Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Turkey Dog

He is bored.
He has walked from room to room
with his toy mailman in his mouth.
He has looked out the window,
barked at the men across the street building the new house,
chased his basketball
as it rolled down the hill,
eaten his dinner,
and shared organic almonds with me.
He has done everything he can possibly do to amuse himself on his own.
Now there is nothing left.
He wants to play
and he wants to play with me.
He wants me to stop writing,
get up off the couch,
and play catch with him.
And we both know I will because
I am his slave,
his Edith Bunker,
his long haired mate
who opens the door for him
when he wants to come in.
The one who shares her dinner with him,
takes him on long walks in the woods
and marvels at his agility.
The one who opens her bed to him at night
when he can’t sleep.
I am the one who pulls thorns from his paws
and takes him to the vet every time
there is even the slightest something wrong.
He is the one who pulls thorns from my heart.
He found me wandering alone
in need of a friend.
He was in need of turkey.