Sitting in the morning sun, I heard him,
brisk paws clicking from the bedroom to me.
It’s a relief — this energy. He’s old
and has had a rough go of it lately.

Squinting into the living room, he walks
to the back door. Thankfully, he hasn’t
bothered Michelle, who’s up with him at night
a lot these days when he’s panting or can’t

get comfortable for whatever reason.
So I unlock the door to take him out.
He sniffs about, finds a spot, and leans in
to water the grass, staring ahead. Now

he turns to look at me, midstream, no pause
to his business. As if to say, “I’m here.
You’re here” or “Thank you” or “Give me a treat”
or “Where’s mom?” or something else entirely.

We walk in the haze of this cool Easter
morning, away from the puddle he made
and into our house — a dog, his master.
Quiet hours before they all awake.

_{Written in community with VerseLove, a group of mostly educators writing a poem every day of April (National Poetry Month). The prompt for today: Write a poem that uses lines that are the opposite of your favorite poetry. In this case, I began with the opposite of the opening line from this poem.}