in the morning, we awake to
dog shit on the kitchen floor,
Cody, our family dog is getting old,
he can no longer control his bowels,
this is not the first time;
“that dog has got to go!!” cries my
wife,
I suppose she’ll want to get rid of
me too,
when I start shitting on the kitchen floor;
upstairs, my grandson
watches Saturday morning cartoons,
Hercules or some other super hero, I think,
when it is over, he and I will go to McDonalds,
for out ritual hotcakes and sausage,
he usually eats all the sausage and
about a quarter of the hotcakes,
I eat the rest,
I think that is my role in life now,
to finish eating what he cannot,
someday he will grow up and eat
everything on his plate;
I suppose I will starve to death
then;
elsewhere my 15 year old,
comes bursting through the kitchen door,
fresh from spending the night
at her best friend’s house;
“watch the dog shit!” I cry out,
“Ooooooh! Gross!” she replies,
then bounds up the stairs to her room,
where she will sleep most of the day,
after being up all night
talking to boys on the phone;
she thinks I don’t know about these
things;
meanwhile, I get out the paper
towels and lysol
to clean up Cody’s shit,
who looks at me
with deeply apologetic eyes;
“It’s ok” I tell him;
“we’re all getting old.”
.
.
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