By Jennie Orlando
Long weeks slither through the road
As I drive over a steep hill
To a house in Bella Vista
With green bushes suffering
November’s persistent winds.
Evening stars glare from the sky
As I step out of the Subaru
And Logan, my mother’s beagle,
Jumps up to greet me
With exuberant eyes.
I stroke his head
And he barks in delight.
Together, we make music
With his squeaking toys
On the kitchen tile.
When he itches for emprise,
We collect a priceless stick treasure,
A crunchy silver bounty
He chews with pride in the yard.
When his vigor saps us both,
We go in the living room
To lie on a resilient couch
With the TV glowing like the moon.
He sleeps next to me,
The chatter of sitcoms his personal lullaby.
His unruffled ears dangle
As I pet his velvet coat.
His joys are simple
Like mine.