The
Day After You Die
The
day after you die, I’ll get a dog,
a
great big dog that sprawls across the bed
and
steals the comforter.
One
that eats all the leftovers,
paints
prints across the kitchen floor,
and
howls at the radio.
One
that leaves toys scattered about
and
gives me sloppy kisses.
I’ll
take long walks with it,
and
teach it to ignore me while I write.
I’ll
feel safe with it by my side.
Then
maybe I won’t miss you so much.
No comments:
Post a Comment