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.
14