The big dog peed the bed, you say,
standing with your pillow in the
doorway to my room. Of course, you
can stay the night with me.
The dogs are restless without your
body to press against. One curls
in the upholstered chair while the
other lies by the bed on the Mexican rug.
Just after the grandmother clock
strikes two, the dogs leave; their
nails click on the tile and soon they
are barking at the French doors in
the den--a cat or maybe some strange
night bird has invaded our back yard.
I feel the little dog lick my hand,
wanting me to let her out to chase
away creatures of the night. I ignore
her but lie awake beside you and watch
something hover over us, suspended
on fetid wings in the still, dark air.
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: Barry Basden writes mostly short pieces. Some have been published in various online venues. Some have not.
